Soft Lips and Creamy Pasta

#np Louis Armstrong – What a wonderful world

Quiet. Absolute quiet, with a light touch of never-ending tranquility. Water drips from the tap, slowly, surely. Repeatedly stroking the voiceless chords of the room in neat strums of acoustic breaches of the peace that has enveloped me tonight. Yes, yet another night of me and my keyboard. No women-loving, code-named, crime-lords with me tonight, or mercenaries from Dublin. Just me and the dripping-tap that is ever so calmly letting off drops of night-long disturbance. That and the raspy sound of Mr. Armstrong baring his soul out at how red roses really are.

A distant tune weaves itself into my already harmonious atmosphere. From the sound of it, it seems that one of my neighbours has decided to say goodnight to the world through those gospel cd’s sold along Moi Avenue. You know, the ones that every non-alcoholic woman above the age of 40 listens to, or those whose videos are shot in the middle of a roundabout, in front of a fountain that met its thirst-induced death ages ago. The hums and hymns continue pouring in, causing the hate for those loud city stalls, and their ever moody patrons, to scurry their way to the surface of my emotions. A hate that burns ever so brightly underneath my hairless chest. One that has one too many a time brought me to the brink of tearing down the blaring speakers from which the noises of downtown Nairobi emanate from. (Watch this space people. Soon, I just might give you guys an action-packed account of a bachelor gone berserk on the noisy streets of downtown Nairobi.)

Moving on though, I’ve always felt – and always will feel – that the best way to truly assess a woman’s nature, and the entire essence of her femininity, is by watching how she eats her spaghetti. Not in the comfort of your home, or under the cover of those eternally dirty sheets, but in a posh restaurant, or café. One that serves something more than just a main course. Where you pay for more than just the meal, since the ambience comes with its own price. A diner where none of the noise from the young girl – Bieber, or Nicki Minaj and her silicone friends, will ever be allowed to ricochet through the chandelier-lit, glass adorned room.

Now I may have gone ahead of myself and painted a picture that many-a-working Kenyans might not quite afford, or be well acquainted with, one or the other. But I feel that the time has come to put my fellow brothers wise. I feel as though we men, are most times blinded by all the whim-whams offered by our dearly treasured women, that we forget to have a look at what lies underneath all that curvy, or not-so-curvy, goodness. That most men would go out on a whim to impress a lady who is far from being a true woman, just because she shows more than enough skin, or her ‘bozzom’ has your undivided attention.

Allow me to explain further:

Take One: Leona Lewis.


A British musician who seems well-bred and raised right. Her looks? They sure rank WAY beyond your average looker. Her voice…my-oh-my, and I mean MY-OH-MY!!! To me, she represents the last generation of women with enough ‘umph’ in their swing to make smart men do really stupid things. I feel as though she might just be among the few ladies of whom most women will openly, comfortably, and undeniably agree – is beautiful.

Take two: Nicki Minaj.

Born somewhere in the Caribbean islands, raised in ‘silicone’ valley, and the current Queen of Siliconia. Do I need to explain her further? I think not. We all know what she is made of. A few more silicone shots and she just might join Lil’ Kim pictured below in Silicone Hell.


Now picture a scenario where each of the two is eating a bowl of spaghetti, rather yet – pasta (sounds more enticing, don’t you agree?). Imagine a meal of pasta sourced somewhere in the hills of Italy. One with a name more exotic than the language itself. Bright yellow in colour, and sprinkled over with dashes of fresh green parsley. Slices of fried mushrooms and baked ham poking out. Each strand of pasta oozing with creamy Parmesan cheese. All of these colours and tastes, teasing to the senses as they may be, effortlessly melting in your mouth. Ladies and gentlemen, picture some Tagliarini Primavera, would you. And after that, picture how Leona Lewis would eat it. Take some steps further down the dark undiscovered alleys of your imagination and imagine how Nicki would eat the same.

Men, do you now agree with me? Ladies, am I right or wrong in saying that a meal of spaghetti can help reveal the true workings of the inner woman? The one underneath all the make-up and silicone. The one who only comes out in the dark of night, when no more pretence and innocent giggles are needed. Or when she is home alone, with an old white wife-beater on, watching the Real Housewives of somewhere, waiting for a call from her man. Who she will go on to give a colourful picture of how sexy she is dressed, and how bored she is without him. (choke)

I’ll leave you to our devices and allow you to form your verdict, as I stick to mine. But if you are on the masculine end of this readership spectrum, be a sport and try this out for yourself. Order spaghetti for your soon-to-be woman, catch or plaything – whichever she may be. It works. I can guarantee that. If you are, however, on the feminine end of the few that wander onto this page, and fall into the ‘Nicki’ category, how about I give you some tips on where to buy some face for your make-up.

For the few of you who do fall into the ‘Leona’ category, will you please marry me? I mean, I hate to admit it but I love a woman who loves herself enough to go out on some of her days, if not all, without make-up. One whose eyes, nose and lips, especially the lips, make me stare at her for eternity. Make me want to turn into Parmesan cheese. To be sprinkled all over the Tagliarini Primavera I order for you, just so you can eat me up and eat me whole as I sail the grey waters of your personality in my quest to find out how worthwhile the endless stares and night-long fantasies really are. And to prove that the woman in you will help me forget that beauty, such as that of Leona Lewis or Kelly Rowland, even exists. However you take my intentions in buying you this meal of pasta, dear lady in red, I’d really love to see you eat, and hopefully, get to enjoy you further later tonight.

#np D’Angelo – Send It On


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