Dear Diary,
All great ideas are not good ideas. The guy who invented a gizmo called a Segway will tell you that. It was supposed to be this self-balancing, clean electric transporter that would completely revolutionise urban city planning and how humans walk.
The reality crashed when a single Segway cost around Sh900,000, and no one knew if it was a vehicle or a scooter.
Anyway, I digress. I’m ranting because I’ve come across a great idea of how to kick Jenny out of my house.
You see, the gist of being a bachelor is living alone with all the freedoms God intended for man. Now I have a self-imposed wife who won’t leave no matter how much I ask her to. She’s gone to the extent of threatening to harm herself if I kick her out. Since she’s pregnant (not mine), I can’t take that chance.
“You want me to see a psychiatrist?” she asks, looking as if I just asked her to stand in front of a bus. “I’m not crazy.”
“You refuse to leave my house, Jenny. What would you call it?”
Her eyes mist up. “But Tom, you’re my only friend. Where do you want me to go?”
“First of all, we are not friends. Not in the traditional sort of way. We are colleagues, and you have your own house you can go to. Now, I understand your fears and the trouble with the father of your unborn child, but you can’t escape your life by hiding away in my house.”
After a little more convincing, she agreed to go visit a specialist.
We made an appointment and visited Dr Darin. When we got to his office, I noticed the nameplate on the door. It said Dr Brian Darin. I began laughing my head off.
“Something funny, Dr Ojiambo?” he asked.
“No,” I said, trying to stop.
“Okay, then. If you can both have a seat, then we can start the—”
“Hold on.” I was holding my belly as another laughter attack threatened to break out. “Your name is Brian Darin?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re a psychiatrist and the letters in your name can be rearranged to say Brain Drain. That’s funny as hell.” I nudged Jenny. “Don’t you think so?”
She gave me a look that could melt butter. “You’re not taking any of this seriously, are you? Why did you suggest it if you knew you’d behave like a child?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “This is not about me. Actually, I don’t have to be here. Let me step outside and you and the doctor have your tete-a-tete.”
“But I want you here,” she protested. “I could use your support.”
“Jenny, you’re a doctor. Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember?” I stepped out of the room and called my friend Enoch.
“Everything in place?”
“Dude,” he said, “are you sure you two aren’t married? For once, your house looks lived-in, bro.”
“Just get on with it, Enoch. I didn’t send you for a tour of my house.”
Next, I called another friend. “Azizi? Please tell me you did it.”
“It’s a piece of cake. I’m not a genius for nothing.”
“Good. Enoch should be right over as soon as he stops being nosy.”
My last call was to another good friend. “Shirley, everything’s in place. Only a few days, I promise.”
“I’m saying yes, but don’t consider this a yes, okay?”
She is the only girl I’ve not been able to bag for a date. “I get it, Shirley.”
So, just like that, Enoch packed Jenny’s stuff and took it to her house, which Azizi had broken into. Then Azizi changed my locks and I moved in with Shirley for a few days.
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