Bacheloerette Diaries, Wk38; 2012


I jetted back to Kenya on Wednesday and went back to my normal life – being busy and kicking ass.

Instead of going to GT first the following day, I went straight to Yedioth Ahronoth. I walked into the wide reception area and for the first time saw the receptionist whom normally I didn’t see, just as I wasn’t conscious of my own breathing. I work here, passes the reception daily, but never once had I noticed the receptionist. But Thursday morning, as I stumbled into the spacious reception area, I noticed she was a stunningly beautiful amazon in her mid-twenties, big eyes, big tits, thick fleshy lips and evidently loved putting on makeup. Her lips were a disgusting hue of red; her shoulder length hair blow-dried and combed straight back.

Now, the eighth wonder of the world –I said ‘good morning’ to her. The surprise package I had delivered was thrown back at me because I had apparently gotten over my head recognizing she existed.

I stepped into my office and immediately wished I had gone to Gevin Technologies. Sheila would have come to say hi and bring me up to speed with what was going on, but what greeted me was a huge pile on pendings (evidently what my editorial assistant couldn’t handle) and in-tray. Policy has it that I have to go through that before noon yet I had an appointment with my doc at Karen Hospital at about the same time. I couldn’t afford to miss it for I’d already missed two checkups last week and I feared I might have a relapse.

I pulled the door shut and opened the windows as my laptop booted up. As I waited, I perused the in-tray: memos for meeting scheduled later that day, correspondences to reply to, journals to read (definitely not this year), invitations I was going to turn down and other mail (who still writes letters) immediately I decided was junk.

According to MS-Outlook, I had over two hundred mails to read. Pretty standard for a busy executive like me, enhe? That’s so unfair. It should be distributed among other employees because it’s not personal.

For a pretty experienced executive like me, by ten all emails were read, deleted and others junked, the mail gone and the heap of paperwork sunk. I refused invitations to press conferences by seven political parties (I am apolitical and I don’t like politicians kissing my ass because I can guarantee them publicity in their campaigns), referred what I deemed beyond my pay grade to the editor-in-chief and let the office’s answering machine pick calls that the news desk guys patched through callers who wanted to talk to the managing editor.

Unfortunately, I missed my hospital appointment; the doc was out of town, so I went back to the office and called the E-in-C who was away on one-day-off.

“Yes.” The voice was abrupt and impatient.

“Did I catch you at the wrong time?”

“No, but I can’t talk to you now.” And the phone went dead.

Bastard, I muttered.

I called the military guy to let him in on a secret – I wanted to have dinner with him. Seriously? That is me chasing the man I had argued was a mistake to be with, and had thought I was wrong and careless about what I convinced myself was a one nightstand.
After telling me to dress up real fancy for the dinner the following day, Friday, I called my boss again.

“Yes.” Same voice, same tone.

Why was he all over sudden with an ATT as big as his ego towards me? I could guess a million things, supposedly, if he was a pawn for some secret movement or cult, dad would have talked to him about our altercation and that I was a bitch and uncooperative. Who cares?

“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but I want to talk to you. We need to talk.”

“This is not the time.”

“I want to talk to you about my meeting in Israel…”

“I know what you want to talk about.”

“There’s more to into it than you think.”

“Certainly not. I won’t have you interrogating me. For once you should listen to what you have been told.”

I took a deep breathe. “My father called you…”

“I don’t have time for this.” His voice was harsh. I imagined him turning red with what I had to say next because the more cross he became, the more I enjoyed every bit of it, but to my consternation, I realized that he had hung up on me, again.
Son of a bitch, I called him in absentia.

The following day was even worse. I called my Bachelorette Club members, who were eager to see me, and broke the news that I was going out with a military guy, but Major Sang stood me up only to call later and tell me that something had come up. He had been tasked to go to Dobley, Somalia, the tactical command centre for KDF troops in Somalia. He was the mission leader of a fleet of four MI17 attack helicopters and he hoped he’d be back in Nairobi by evening. Evidently, he was not coming till Monday.

“I’m so sorry.” I could even hear it in his voice.

I am not sure this is what I want, but every hormone in me blinks green.



Copyright ©Elove, 2013.



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