Me, I’m a guy, and I have a date with a lady halafu she shows up with 3 of her friends without notice?
That is not a date. It is a press conference.
We agree to meet, just you and I, but you arrive followed by a crowd of your girls, carrying their handbags with their arms at a 90° angle, and they all gather at the table. And you say, “Baby, meet my friends Alice, Stacy, Violet, Maureen, Rita, Caro, Tina, Michelle, Sandra, Samantha, Agnes, Rachel, Victoria, Anabelle, Schollastica, Maryanne, Cindy, Betty, Ruth, Esther…” and then when you finish introducing them, you all make yourselves comfortable and you ask them, “Girls, what will you have?” and then you look at me as if I am Jesus, about to feed the crowd of 5,000 hungry people.
May the Holy Ghost Fire consume you!
I will refuse! Me, I will refuse profusely! I will ask the waiter to find me a Bible. The Bible will be brought and I will read a few scriptures then start preaching. Oh, glory! I will be T.D Jakes. I will be Joyce Meyer. I will be your daddy pastor. I will prophesy. I will minister. I will ask if anyone wants to get baptised. I will ask if anyone wants to accept Christ as their personal Lord and saviour. I will ask for offerings and tithes. I will invite you to come to my church.
You will ask me what the fuck I think I’m doing and why I’m embarrassing you and your friends.
And I will place my hand on your shoulder and calmly tell you, “Look at this crowd you came with. This is not a date. It is a crusade.”
You show up with your battalion of girls without letting me know beforehand, and you all congregate at the table perusing the menu and sharing screenshots while giggling. You tell them to have whatever they want because I will pay.
The devil is a liar!
I will refuse! I will stand on top of the table and ask for a loudspeaker. There and then, I will launch my presidential bid. I will launch my new political party. I will distribute party t-shirts and caps. I will incite you to storm the IEBC offices. I will say something about the Gender Bill to win your votes. I will insult my opponents and give false promises.
You will ask me what the hell is wrong with me and why I am doing this to you.
And I will hold your hand gently, look into your eyes, and calmly tell you, “Look at this multitude you came with. This is not a date. It is a political rally.”
“Babe, ebu let’s leave this loser. You deserve better,” your girls will advise while clicking their tongues and rolling their eyes.
You will all leave.
And I will enter His gates with Thanksgiving in my heart. I will sing and dance like King David did.
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