Dating a writer is very much like trying to date a penguin. It’s all fun and games until you realize that you have to learn a new language and get used to getting weird looks as you walk down the streets with your peculiar date. If you really think about it, you cannot separate writers from readers. Almost every single reader has at one point or the other of his/her life, tried to write. As such, this article should probably be titled “Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Date a Writer/Reader”.
The distinction however, has to be made; this article describes about two percent of the total community of writers. Some of us are odd and others are the epitome of normalcy. Now let’s get into it, and if by the end you still think you can handle a writer, you need to check yourself into a mental hospital.
Trust issues Now to be quite frank, the potatoes I had in my former Adventist high school are the main reason why I have such deep-seated trust issues. Those damned things were all golden and yellow on the outside, practically begging to be eaten. So with all the wit of an intoxicated three year old, I would bite into them whole with great gusto only to find that the centre is as raw as Lil Wayne’s voice. (Really though, would it kill him to just clear his throat every once in a while?) The taste of a raw potato, dear reader is something like a cross between saw dust and soggy cabbage, yes, gross is the word. The kind of diet I’m on right now. Away from all that though, a reader comes into contact with villains of all shades and sorts. I have read words so beautiful they would make you weep, and also in my own way written deception into existence. I am aware of the flexibility of words seeing as my entire life has been spent manipulating them to evoke emotion. So every single time I complement a girl or tries to explain how I feel, it all seems like part of an act to me. Believe me at your own peril. But if you decide to continue, make sure you read into every single word I use, including and not limited to, my pauses and tone of voice.
The fun element of dating I am as fun as a deflated soccer ball, or a half- eaten zebra; which for all you slow dummies means I’m not fun AT ALL. Being a writer means that most times I don’t want to be part of the action; I just want to sit at a vantage point and observe. I will not be the perfect boyfriend that will dance with you at the party. Speaking of dancing, we serve a just God who gives to all, talents in equal measure. As such, coordination is not my forte. For all who’ve seen me attempt to shake a leg, I apologize for the visual torture I subjected you to. I will assume all financial implications in case you need therapy to get over it. I am so horrible at dancing I don’t even do it in the shower let alone in public!
Grammar Nazism I’m not perfect, no one is. I have made quite a few catastrophic grammar errors in my lifetime. This however, will not stop me from editing your texts and judging you by your written and spoken English. See, as I explained earlier, words are important to me. To then mindlessly slaughter them with “ur abbreviations dat luk lyk dis” just won’t do for me. I will hunt you down and might be forced to skin you alive. I’m kidding. But don’t write that “xaxa’ or “nakulombotov” shit to me. Just don’t.
Gifts You’d expect dating a writer/reader to come cheap. It is not. Not for your pockets but for your mind. Every Tom, Dick and Harry goes to Subway. Every Vanessa, Vionah and Victoria wants to go to, mmmmh… Capital Center or Gateway Mall? I would be much happier walking you down the streets to those ladies that sell njugu close to Jamia Mall as long as you fascinate me and enjoy my dry jokes. Sure, we can have pizza and do coffee like all the normal couples but you can be sure that the dates that I will most remember are those which we sat in the middle of the road at night simply because I wanted to. Life is too short to do normal things, which brings me to my next point… (Also, warning, books are expensive gifts)
I will embarrass you There’s no easy way to say this, I am strange. I am so strange if I were a dog, I would probably meow. I say strange things all the time. I do strange things even more often. I will stop in the middle of the street and stare at a crack in the pavement and you had better let me be because if you interrupt my thought process I will punch you in the throat. I will stop random strangers and tell them that I think they’re beautiful. I will order chocolate along with my avocado or watermelon and salt (tastes amazing, btw). And, you should try, at least for once, to reject my flowers; because killing a plant and presenting it to you as a symbol of my undying affection when two days later the flowers will be dead is too much irony and foreshadowing for me. You should know better, lady.
I will write about you You’ll think it’s all good to be my muse until I start to tell the world, and in graphic detail no less, the secrets of your heart. I will describe the way you look in the morning and the way you can’t seem to do certain things right and you will get angry. I will cheat on you with my words because I will write about that girl that I stopped on the street the other day to appreciate her walking style. There’s more; I might not like your dressing(but wont say). I laugh at real jokes, oftentimes, I exaggerate the laughs. My kind of jokes are extremely odd. I am as blind as a bat. I have strange sleeping patterns. In fact, I don’t sleep at night. I make so much noise, though my taste of music still remains the best. I have standards which are so high they’re literally at the feet of Jesus. We could go on forever. Commandment number 11: Thou shall not date a writer lest you lose your soul to him, as you are just about to do.