Q: Isn’t it funny the way women have no qualms about ripping meats off ribs? Goat ribs. Pork ribs. Other kinds of ribs.
A: Er…no. It isn’t. If this is supposed to be some sort of creation joke, it’s fallen flat. It’s fallen so flat that any elaboration on the flatness of its fall will ramble on so long that people will come to associate the irritation that they feel as a result of reading it with women in general. And we don’t want that.
So women’s day came and all the girls donned their prettiest little dresses, cutest faces and made plans. The city was so overwhelmed by the number of fresh faced; daintily stepping ladies that it struggled to keep its jaw in place and actually succeeded in being better behaved. Conductors found themselves unable to hike the taxi fare from Wandegeya to town and you could see from their facial spasms that they simply couldn’t understand what forces were stopping them from wrenching that extra 200 shillings from people’s wallets.
Some girls went for the girl-fest at Emin Pasha. Once there, they talked, listened, swayed to bombastic live music and made eyes at Micheal Ouma (This guy is too hot). The various scheduled activities seemed like they’d been specially designed in a hot-pink vanilla scented laboratory to make women feel wholesome and appreciated. It was like watching the end of For Colored Girls over and over again.
Other girls texted their girlfriends saying, ‘Gwe. Why don’t we go to iguana tonight and drink? Dj Tumz rocks!’ and received replies like, ‘*Fist bump! You always have the best plot you chic.’ And so on.
A large group met up at Javas to plan the downfall of Urban Legend Kampala. This was because they’d failed to decode a top secret sms that one of them had copied out of one of the legend’s phones. Their intuition(s) told them that an article poking fun at women was going to be posted and they’d gathered to plot revenge. When they actually went to the site and saw that no such thing had been done, they had ice cream and lived happily ever after.
Men all over the world oscillated between feelings of sullenness and generous adoration for the women in their lives. Sullenness like: Shya. How come women get to have a day? They shouldn’t. Also us we should have one. And generous adoration like: OMG how much I love my mumsy and my girlie and my sisters and my grannie and and and all the other girls in the world. I’d also me like to do the thing that weezy wants to do with all the girls in the world.
Yep. That really is how men think. In kindergarten-speak.
Whatever proclivities I possess towards real journalism have been suitably massaged by the reporting above and we can now, arms linked, plunge into some of the reasons girls rule.
Nice smells: Whichever way you look at them, nice smells are decidedly feminine. Also, girls just smell nice all the time. Even when they’re all gross and sweaty, they smell nice. It’s bad manners to go around saying, even insinuating anything else.
Books: You know how book collectors are selfish with their books? How they’d rather set themselves on fire than see one of their babies disappear onto somebody else’s shelf? Girls can smile, breathe heavily, swoon a little and Voila! Book acquired.
Accessories: Ribbons, flowers, clips, teeth. Anything can be made into an accessory when you’re female. You can look wear absolutely ridiculous rubbish and look like a specter, a vision, and not even a scary sort of specter. A pretty one. I mean look at Imogen Heap.