Who Will Cry For The Ugly Duckling?

Have you ever read studies/ heard theories on how humans do their selection for mating? Me too.

Did that help you understand why the hot rod of a guy runs off with a woman as ugly as treasure or the video vixen hangs onto Shrek like he was Blair Underwood? Me neither.

So how exactly do human select a suitable mate? We have met people who make our jaws drop and we would catch a grenade for but wait till you see who they settle for. You’ll be forgiven for all insults you hurled in regret as you dust off the grenade debris.

Funny how the only time you rejoice is when your ex hooks up with Ugly duckling so it seems like you’ve won. Funny how we criticize how one will cheat with the ugly duckling when they’ve got a trophy spouse back in the cage.

The other day I went for my usual rugby Saturday hangout. I’m a Quins Queen as usual after the game; everyone heads to the waterhole to quench their thirst. Don’t be fooled though, it’s a meat market out there too. Everyone’s strutting their stuff; chests, breasts, butts, foreheads, fingers in all shapes and sizes. Yes, everything is out there like a garage sale: One man’s trash is another’s treasure.

At this point I must say, the unfortunate thing about bodies is you only get the first impression. You’ll judge and be judged by it. Not like clothes where you can always wear something different and hope to bump into that hot guy/woman looking all sexy second time round. Na, you’ve only got one shot.

Back to rugby Saturday, my wing woman and I stand at the outside bar catching up and taking roll call of who’s with it. A bull approaches the watering hole and asks for a plastic tumbler from the bar at which point I turn subconsciously.

Bull: Do you think this tumbler is clean?

Me: I hope so. I don’t know.

Bull: Is that what how you’ll be talking to our children?

(I blushed. Yes I did. I mean the bull was tall, dark and handsome. He had a body that suggested he’s played rugby in the distant past. He sounded polished and eloquent. )

Me: Huh? (Bull walks away.)

I continue our talk with wingwoman as we watch the bull walk back to his boys. They weren’t an eyeful like he ‘appeared’ to be. We quickly take note that he is unaccompanied and probably, on the prowl.

Few minutes later, he returns to the bar for a few more minutes of chat then heads back to his pack. As he resumes his position in the circle fo boys, a female approaches him. She extends an extra-time hug as if to mark territory.

At this point, my wingwoman and I exchange nods. Yes, she is the woman behind all the fine in the man. The expression on our faces said it all. Our excuses for him ranged from they must’ve been childhood friends to ‘she must be the proverbial cousin visiting from shags’ and eventually we gave up as they put their arms around each other smiling happily. In conclusion, she must have been pretty smart with a beautiful personality. That’s all I’m giving. Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.

In reality the ugly duckling is the underdog; we always question why the people we see as handsome, beautiful always end up with the ugly duckling. The ugly duckling is said to be undeserving and not qualified to be with the peacock but don’t they deserve the good things in life too?

Who will cry for the Ugly Duckling?

Mind Your Love Language

This post was long overdue so let me break my silence before I’m consumed by mush.

I’m not a cold person, really but I admit i missed the love train by a couple of stations.

For the longest time, I believed terms of endearment are reserved for the annoying, starry-eyed, slow walking, lip-locking, nauseating couples who litter the streets every 5 meters. They only look good in movies, in my  opinion.

I slowly observed from the sidelines as  these nicknames start spilling all over the variety of platonic and same-sex (girl) relationships. (Does Bromance accept them?)

I’m still frozen at telling my BFFs I love them. I find it hard to call any random party ‘love’ or ‘sugar’, ‘pumpkin (Are you calling me fat?)’, ‘angel’ (Do my shoulder blades look like wings to you?). I can’t even call my beautiful niece ‘cutie pie’ even though deep down I know she is, cute, not a pie. Who cares?

Yes, I was hugged as a child so it has nothing to do with emotional abuse. I accept that as far as emotions are concerned, I am stiff. You’ll have me curling into a corner by referring to me as ‘sugar’, ‘Baby’ especially in public.

I’m those people who will mumble words that sound like ‘I love you’ because saying it in public could make me pee in my pants. Kissing me in public is a sure way of making me faint. I cringe if my arms rub against another’s when seated in a bus. It took me 2 years to start using cutlery at the students’ Mess back in University, I used to carry my own. I choke when I see a text beginning with ‘Hey Love’ from a pal regardless of gender. A tweet addressed to me with the words, ‘Hey cute-stuff’ make me log off for a couple of minutes as I compose myself. Heck, I’m even working up a sweat as I put down these experiences. *Sigh*

Well I’m not completely nuts as far as senses and emotions are concerned. I peck my dad and mum on the cheek in public, even my partner gets a kiss or two (no-tongue in public) but that’s all. So imagine my shock when I had the following conversation with a client:

Client: Hey there! You hardly return my calls.

Me: It’s a crazy February so it slipped my mind.

Client: What is it DEAR?

Me: (As I struggle to regain my footing after I heard ‘DEAR’) Just lots of work. Nothing new.

Client: You know I’m here for you SWEETIE. Just call me at 5 o’clock and we can have coffee to unwind. (Yikes! Is this guy trying to kill me?)

Me: We work long hours, I leave the office at 8 o’clock in the evening.

Client: SWEETHEART, you know you shouldn’t overwork yourself!  (And he had the audacity to sound upset!)

Line goes dead on his end. I hang up on him. It’s nothing personal: just business.

I must’ve slept through a couple of years, when were titles or names replaced by terms of endearment? Sweetie, sweetheart…You’ve never even met me so don’t let my voice fool you.

Hugs make me feel woozy unless if by first impression, I concluded you would smell nice and you have a hot body. Handshakes are even worse; I don’t know where your hands have been. I never know which cheek to peck first so I usually activate ‘dummy’ mode and let the Pecker (not the woodpecker though some would qualify) start pecking lest I end up lip-locking. In related news, do you know the mouth has more bacteria than the sexual organs? And No, I will not go south instead. I rest my case.

I’m doing my best to catch up though. I live with my aunt (story for another day) who loves to hug every time everywhere; in the morning, lunchtime, as we retire to bed. I say I love you to my folks, sisters and my partner clearly on phone or in person within a radius of 30 centimeters of any eavesdropping party.

I address close friends as ‘dearie’ once in every 10 conversations spread throughout the year. I also throw in ‘Take care’ when I have had a couple of sips and feel bold enough. I intend to enroll in a class to learn how to conduct Pillow Talk since I was reliably informed that a sigh, nod or a happy grin doesn’t qualify as pillow talk.

I’m ‘work-in-progress’ so be patient with me while you reduce your servings of endearment referrals, kisses, hugs etc unless you qualify. I hear this is the month of love but there is only so much I can do while it lasts.

P.S.  I don’t get people who ‘high five’ after every sentence too.

Picture this: Random person: “Hey, there goes a Vitz.” (LOL  *cue High 5*) continues, “My pal has a green one” (LOL *cue High 5* ).

Excuse me as I go sanitize and massage my hands. I spot a ‘woodpecker’ approaching.

*Lights off*