Its 2135 hrs – Nairobi time. I’m in my boxers right now, red checked boxers. Lying in bed, I’m covered by a blue, cotton quilt with grey checkers dotted across its surface. Two pillows support my head, and my (now-ageing) phone is clutched between my two front paws.
I type this while staring at my clothing rack, heavy-ladden with my small collection of shirts and scarves, as they too eye me in return. One red, navy blue, and white checked shirt in particular, seems to be begging for personal attention. Craving for it even. Its look holds eerie telltales of desperation. Desperate desire to beckon me over for a little tete-a-tete. Maybe even hoping I’ll invite it over for some late-night pillow-talk. But it knows those puppy eyes won’t work on me. Its place is beside that double-coloured, red and grey scarf besides it. And that’s where its going to stay all night. Right underneath the red, Manchester United, polo shirt, and the red and black lumberjack; both thrown recklessly over their neat order.
That’s five times now that I’ve used the word ‘red’. I too have just discovered how many red items are in my possession, and the statistics are crazy, I tell you. Even my pencil sharpener is of the same colour as these shirts I speak of. Do I love the colour red? Not particularly. Yet everywhere I turn, all I see is red. Like tiny warning signs scattered all across the room.
Red hand-towel; red curtains; red scented candle; one or two scarves with at least a hint of red; a red box of five half coronas; Fahrenheit deodorant in a red, metallic container; a glass, sugar jar with a red lid…..I could go on, but I believe you get the point, don’t you? Oh sorry, let me add _ even red pencils.
Now, so that you don’t view me as a freak, allow me to inform you that most of my shirts are actually in various shades of blue, _ and some brown, and _ I see numerous pinks too. No red shoes or blazers, and no red lipstick for that matter. None of all my beddings either, is of the colour red. But I still feel so naked knowing that if ever my girlfriend was to buy me a gift, it would be as simple as getting almost anything in the colour red; and nailing it.
Perhaps that’s why she bought me this box of Henri Wintermans, that devious woman. Using shortcuts and dodgy bypasses to get me all smiley, and soapy eyed. Well if you’re reading this, girlfriend, better be careful how you tread with these gifts. Or I might just adopt a shortcut of my own to get you the same. Something along the lines of: buy anything that looks/feels/smells like the person that would be interested in it, once believed in fairies. Those that fly over fields of bright and sweet scented flowers, kissing butterflies along the way, spreading cheer and happiness all day. I mean, that’s what excites you – right? No?
Well for me, the colour red does. It gives me jolts of joy and tinges of love each time I see it, or wear anything of its likeness. It gives my skies extra rays of light, and makes the sun shine even more closely. The natural flow of things gets distorted when I’m in a red item, or when this red, vanilla scented candle by my bed is lit. Burning ever so softly, its scent gracefully wafting through the air. Getting my body systems all warm and covered with beads of hot, sweaty thoughts. I’m not trying to be suggestive with you, BUT _ if you were in red lingerie, well I just don’t know??? I really don’t know what things the cover of night, the sounds of Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get It On’, and these scented candles would altogether make me do. All I know, and can say, is that I would plead innocence for the panoramic view your night might just take. Don’t they call it the colour of passion too?
So pardon the affinity, or my excitement. Its just that such tiny, red things give me so much pleasure. Well, except for that red lipstick your friend stained my white polo shirt with. I mean, who does that _ especially when hugging someone? And I’m not saying she has big lips or anything, no. Don’t accuse me of that. But damn, who does that?