Of men who carry their women’s handbags

My fellow women, why do some of you subject men to unnecessary humiliation? Why oooh why do you make some men wish to come back to this world as Avocados in their next lives so that we put them in our Githeris once and for all?

I am talking about you women who make their men take them all the way to their preferred salons and make them sit there all through their manicure, pedicure, wash and set and facial. Then you make them read all those feminine magazines in the salons repeatedly from cover to cover as if an exam awaits them.

Meanwhile, you sit there holding a ‘women only’ kamkunji that has no agenda but flows all the way despite interruptions from ‘screenshots’ to prove a point.

To make matters worse, if any debate comes up, you turn to him for a final say or to back you up. You expect them to sit pretty all through the ‘Thirty Two’ hours asking after every 30 minutes “Umeboeka?” Any time he rises, you ask “Unaenda wapi?”

There is a special colour in the rainbow for you women who make your men carry your handbags as you cat walk on the streets imagining you are Naomi Campbell. Why do you break that macho look in your man by adding him an ‘accessory’ he doesn’t need? Unless you have been handcuffed by Kanjo for resisting arrest after double parking, you should be the one carrying that heavy handbag.

There is also a special verse in our National Anthem for men who think they can be ‘sat on’ by their women and still look attractive! News flash, you look like an animal a whale swallowed and spat out still alive and confused. Decide on who you want to be and rock your choice like there is no tomorrow.

There is a sudden rise of insecurity in men after the hidden camera expose in one of the clinics. I am sure you all want to take your wives to the clinic and monitor the doctor’s every move. To that, thumbs up! That exposé must have been a blessing in disguise for some of us.

However, that does not mean you walk in carrying everything except your woman! An infant in one hand, a baby bag and a handbag in the other and an umbrella being supported by your neck and shoulder as your woman walks in carrying nothing and smiles at everyone in the clinic as if telling them ‘My husband is the bomb’! Madam, you are right, your husband is a bomb waiting to explode so hard you will regret the aftermath.

What happened to the safety of your baby? Even if you are married to Hercules, unless you are on a stretcher being rushed to the theatre, please help him carry some of those things. Even an elastic band has its limits when it stretches.

I could go on and on but I will hold it for another day to save those men holding this article up for their women unwillingly from muscle pulls! Women, let us not cross the red line, let men be men; and to you men, if you cannot be a man then don’t marry a woman! I did not mention anything about gay, did I?