Kan o!

I have had my fingers in a few pies - both the metaphorical and the American variety, if you get my drift. This post is not about the latter. Partly, because my sister reads my blog. Mostly, because I really really really wish to avoid being run over by a mob of pissed women should I choose to discuss their pies or my fingers in them out in the open. Also, that would be crass. I like to maintain the delusion of class, not only as far as others are concerned.

That is important to me. For instance. You won't catch me dead with an unattractive woman. So what if I don't go out with women at all, or rather they choose to not go out with me. The point is you won't catch me dead with an unattractive one. In fact, that statement is oxymoronic. I have not come across any woman who is unattractive, though there are those with unattractive feet and those with unattractive minds.

May be that is a delusion too. No matter. The charm of delusion lies in that with time you do not know if you are deluded or if reality has moulded itself to fall in line with your delusion. That does not mean you are not able to differentiate fantasy from life. There is no difference, save that fiction makes sense. Besides, nothing exists except atoms and empty space. Everything else is an opionion.

But this is definitely real. I have the plane tickets to prove it. I was in Kano last week. Beautiful place. As different from Lagos as the colour of Jenna Jameson's hair on her head is from that between her legs. It is a medieval kind of place, one frozen in time. It was the biggest centre of commerce in Nigeria. The political power and the money still wrests with the people here. The weather was lovely - cool and breezy like Pilani in late October. The atmosphere of the city is laid back, and it has a very welcoming air to it.

I realised something this Saturday. I have very strong thighs. I have lovely feet too, and I am not the only one to say it. I know a gorgeous woman who concurs. Anyway. About the thighs. I did not take a moment to sit from 10 in the morning to 7 in the evening on Saturday. There was the year end customer party we threw. Huge guest list. 1200 people. Kept moving around all the time, talking to customers, doing the PR, things of that sort. Took a few shots of flaming B-52s at the end of the day to feel the blood running through my legs again. But it was all worth it.

I need to invest in a mosquito net. Nothing else keeps these blood suckers at bay. I have slept with LGMFs (Little Green Motherfuckers). They were bad, very very bad. But African mosquitoes are goddamn fantastic. Usually Indian mosquitoes respect air-conditioning. The bitches here laugh in the face of it, even when my room is cold enough to keep meat fresh for weeks.

All whores are bitches but all bitches are not whores. Interesting aside I came up with today while I was in that wonderful period of drifting in and out of sleep. A whore is a bitch because she does not care which dog rams her for she gets what she wants when it is done. A bitch is not a whore because she gets what she wants before it is all done. However, the act is always done. It is the chronology that differs.

Aside bonus: Why is love so hard to get once you find it?