How lies ruined my chances of getting with the landlord’s daughter

The most important thing you need when you are the jogging partner of an overweight person is not stamina or speed; it is first-aid skills! Should they collapse, the responsibility of resuscitating them rests on you. Of course, no one expects you to carry them to the nearest hospital on your shoulders, but it would do no harm to have the number of a towing vehicle – just in case the ambulance you summon breaks down from the heavy load and it needs to be pulled!

So when I reluctantly became the jogging partner of the landlord’s daughter one of the things I ensured was to keep my distance, just in case she slipped and fell on me. With a ‘CV’ that I am not so proud of, I was not taking chances with my obituary as I wouldn’t like it reading that I was suffocated to death by a girl. Funerals are a place to cry not laugh!

The first morning we went jogging, I returned home wondering whether there was any truth to the claim that exercise can help prolong your life. How in the world does running out of breath after two metres and ending up with aching muscles all over, hurting feet and a bruised ego enhance longevity? It is the exact opposite.

The only reason I hang on was because I had to pretend we had something in common so that when she eventually got dumped, she would not find my waiting arms repulsive! But as overweight as she was, she could still outrun me. It was while lagging far behind her that a boda boda rider flew past dropping his number plate that was hanging loosely. I whistled for him to stop.

“Ningekupatia lift isipokuwa unajog...” the rider said after expressing his gratitude. I promptly corrected him and jumped on the motorcycle’s saddle before he could say ‘cheating’. From then on we had a pact – he became my boda boda guy for the morning run.

?

I would make sure I fell behind the landlord’s daughter and then he would conveniently appear and ferry me through a different route and drop me just behind Naftaly’s Flats after making sure Stacy had passed.

I would then jump out and pour water all over my head before staring towards the flats with forced panting and heavy breathing.

Good things don’t last, however. One morning just as we were approaching the usual drop-off point, a visibly enraged man emerged from the bushes brandishing a machete screaming murder at the rider for sleeping with his wife. Just like the rider couldn’t stop his lustful ways he didn’t stop the motorbike and he rode on very fast.

By the time we were out of danger we had already caught up with the landlord’s daughter. He hurriedly dropped me as Stacy gave me a look that said I was the shadiest guy she had ever met.

“I am sorry...” I said. “No no no! Don’t ever talk to me again!” she said as she waved her hands. I could tell I stood no chance with her now. It would have been better to be friend-zoned but now I had just been ‘dead-zoned’; as far as she was concerned I was dead to her.