• Libido can make a man make very bad decisions, as bachelor finds out
My medical conference in the land of the Grand Canyon and faces carved on a mountain didn’t start on a good note. After being detained for several hours at the airport for being a smartass, my host rescues me. He’s a pretty nice older chap called Dr Johnson.
The first thing Dr Johnson tells me isn’t very reassuring. “Welcome to Chicago, Dr Ojiambo. It’s a beautiful city. Population, two and a half million. But while you’re here, watch where you wander. We average around 700 murders a year.”
“Whoa! Sounds like a lot.”
“It is. Every day, two people die of stabbing or shooting or whatever else you might think of. And don’t get me started on the injuries we treat at the hospital.”
Now that he’s scared me enough, I reckon it can’t get worse, right?
Well, it does.
That evening, a blizzard dumps two feet of snow in Chicago. That’s cold wet stuff all the way past your knees. That wouldn’t be too bad if all I must do is stay indoors behind a warm fire. However, it so happens that Dr Johnson’s very attractive 30-year-old daughter is staying with her parents temporarily as she finalises her divorce to end eight years of an abusive marriage.
Her son is seven, and he takes to me like a magnet. He has an encyclopaedia of questions on Africa, for which he demands answers from a black, genuine African. Even though he’s quite a nice boy and I enjoy talking to him, his mother says something that gets my blood aboil.
“You wouldn’t be trying to seduce me, would you?”
Shocked, I say, “What gives you that idea?”
She smiles. “You know what they say. The way to a single mother’s heart is through her child.”
And so, it’s game on. “I’m bursted. Is it working?”
“Ask me again after dinner.”
Libido will make a man make very bad decisions. Like when I agree to go outside with my little new friend, lie down on the snow, flap our arms around and make something called a “Snow Angel”.
Half an hour later, I’m begging to get back into the house because I’m so frozen, I can’t feel my fingers, my toes or my balls. The latter is so bad that no matter what answer I get after dinner, I’m afraid I won’t rise to the occasion.