BabaJimmi: I would not pass without staring at cute ladies around

by Joseph Maina

On Saturday afternoon, the comptroller asked me to take her shopping in town.

So, immediately after munching my lunch, I hopped into the bathroom and showered, donned a nice outfit and shaved the porcupine on my chin.

The comptroller followed suit and as usual, she took more time to prepare than it would take our Government to plan a hydroelectric power plant. She eventually came out, looking splendid in a flower speckled kitenge, an oga-styled headband and a pair of ultra high heel stilettos.

And so we set off in my prehistoric starlet. We had barely scooped two miles into the journey when my eyes caught this attractive lady who crossed the road, sporting a look that completely arrested my attention. Her hair looked amazing as it danced in the wind.

Her face looked like that of a movie star or a successful model, and her body made me almost roll over on my back with all paws in the air, ready to pounce.

I know I should not say this but to be honest, I even caught myself wishing she were my second comptroller! Sadly, Mama Jimmy’s hawk eyes brought my ogling spree to a halt.

“Wacha kusorora huyo mama, Baba Jim,” she scolded, fearing that I would veer off the highway and turn her into a crash-test dummy. The lady eventually sashayed off, accompanied by my admiring stare.

I promised myself not to fall prey to any more distractions, but woe unto me! Two minutes later, I caught myself staring at a girl who was riding a mountain bike, dressed in a miniskirt over one of those over-the-knee socks. I would be lying if I told you that I paid attention to the road from this point on.

For some inexplicable reason, my whole system went ablaze, and my hormones started cruising at the speed of a miraa van.

“Unazubaa nini, Baba Jim?” Comptroller posed, interrupting my visual feast. Believe me, it took plenty of brain voltage for me to disengage my stare. Moments later, another lady sauntered by, looking super-gorgeous in her colourful dress and mitumba high-heels. I threw her a mental hug and pointed my snout towards the road, acting like nothing had happened.

Thankfully, we arrived at the supermarket without any further drama. Once there, I met a plethora of stunningly cute ladies, and my eyes celebrated a bumper harvest.

One of the ladies happened to be the cleaner, who was busy tidying up. She boasted a face that would be hazardous to men driving vehicles.

Away from her awesome looks, her legs, seen through the generous slit on her skirt, left me gaping like a zombie! It did not take long before she set about cleaning the floor, crouched up in what we shall politely call the “bend-over” position. “Stop staring at her, Baba Jim,” the comptroller scolded once again under her breath.

“Er....I was not staring,” I protested, amid a mild, pretentious cough. I then reluctantly disengaged my stare, but it took me many minutes to fully perish the thought of that woman. You see, being a married man, I desist from ogling, but there comes a time when a man’s eyes involuntarily go “window shopping”, if you know what I mean.

When a beautiful woman walks by, my vision instantly picks her up, regardless of whether I am with my comptroller, or even if I am driving at 120 kilometres per hour on a road full of potholes and in bad weather.

I have tried to fight off this urge, and I have even prayed about it, but it just does not go away. Things get worse if the woman in question is wearing a low-cut top.

Well, the cleaner may have been eye candy, but she was nothing compared to the cashier, whose looks alone sent a blinding gush of electric kilowatts down my spine.

She looked not less than five General Elections old, true, but she was a real siren. Her beauty started from her lovely hair and extended to her well-chiseled neck, going down her back and all the way to her industrial-sized hips and her humongous...

Mama Jimmy was furious.

“Men who ogle are ogres,” she spat, her nostrils breathing a volcanic breath.

“Usirudi kuangalia wamama wengine hivyo,” she warned.

Ok, I eventually promised to discipline my eyes, but a little bird tells me that I will invariably break this promise.

With apologies to Jimmy Gathu, my pastor and my mother-in-law, I will have to admit that my eyes do not have curtains! That is just how I am wired.

Staring is just another free service I offer. Having finished shopping, we paid our bill, hopped back into the starlet and headed back to the hacienda.