Men really are from Mars

My journey to marriage has stalled at engagement, with my fiancée Sgt Sophia employing all kinds of tactics to nip our forthcoming nuptials. The reasons behind her odd behaviour had been a mystery until recently, when she admitted to having been engaged once before, with disastrous consequences. Her former fiancé died in a road accident, accompanied by the paramour with whom he had been cheating on Sophia.

Following this confession, I was at a complete loss for an appropriate response, which recalled the inadequacy of the male species to handle delicate issues. When it comes to matters of the heart, men are as gentle as a bull in a china shop.

Clarence, a former colleague of mine when I used to work the Nakuru beat, had received a frantic call from his girlfriend. Fearing the worst, he had rushed home to find his lover inconsolable.

“I’m so sorry dear,” Clarence said, embracing her. “What happened?”

“He’s gone, Clarence,” she cried. “He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone, dear?”

“Simba! Simba is gone.”

Clarence shook his head. “Simba? Who’s Simba? I don’t know any of your relatives by that name.”

Suddenly, the woman’s tear-welled eyes turned from desolate to murderous. “Clarence, are you being serious right now?”

At a loss, Clarence racked his brain, searching for a hint to the elusive name. “Is it your cousin? Maybe someone I met at a family gathering a long time ago?”

“Oh my God!” His girlfriend extricated herself from his embrace and stepped away. “I can’t believe this.”

“Come on, Nia. You know how bad my memory is. I know it’s not your brother Chacha, or your sister Faizah. If I met Simba long ago, I’d be forgiven to—”

“You met him as recently as yesterday, you lout!” she spat. “You’ve met him every day you’ve been here.”

Clarence was aghast. “I have?”

Now, as men’s interpretation goes, every time another “he” crops up in an argument, our sense of self-preservation and territorial supremacy kicks in. No realm is ever big enough for another “he”.

Inside Clarence’s head played a scenario in which Nia was bold enough not only to admit there was another man in her life, but she had the gall to rope Clarence into mourning for this sorry son of a gun. On the other hand…

“Honey,” he said, working hard to remain calm, “you wouldn’t be talking about another man that—”

“Simba was my cat! Jesus Christ! I can’t believe I have to tell you his name once again.”

The news was a like a boulder to Clarence’s chest. His girlfriend was right. Clarence had met the fur ball several times and not once had he been a fan of the stupid feline. Every time he tried to make out with Nia, the cat would start a ruckus aimed at distracting them.

“Oh, he needs water,” Nia would say.

If not liquid nourishment, it would be the kitty’s time for a walk, or a cuddle, or a bath. A freaking bath, for Christ’s sake! Weren’t cats supposed to hate water?

Anyway, long story short, Clarence was caught in a situation that presented several ways out at a moment that would determine the future of his and Nia’s relationship.

The problem was, Clarence is a man, and men are from Mars while women are from Venus. Two disparate planets millions of kilometres apart. While his head instructed him to say one thing, his mouth acted independently.

“The cat?” he shouted, sounding as incredulous as he felt. “Now I can’t believe this. All this hullabaloo over a pet?”

And that’s how we welcomed Clarence back into the singles club.