In retrospect I should have experienced my first pangs of buyers’ remorse when my gal walked out on me. I ought to have returned the blasted heap of metal back at that very instant. Pig headed Giriama that I am I clung on to my new found mechanical mistress.
The week after my ex had taken her last teddy bear from my house following various ‘I-don’t-think-am-ready-to
I have had a theory that The Kizzler was on auction and some sinner in serious trouble knelt down to pray forcing the devil away from the auction house just before this lot was called. I bought the damn thing and Lucifer has hounded me ever since. That poor Christian must be wallowing in the lake of fire by now!
On this particular morning I was not whistling to any particular tune at all. I had just had fantastic ‘I think we should get back together sex’ and I had this feeling that the sky was bluer. The grass for once was greener on this side of the fence; the birds’ chirpier ad nauseam .All was right with the world. Except for that cough……
My heart immediately lurched to the pit of my stomach; this was the first of many such episodes. I had no idea that later I would use many more adjectives to describe the varying degrees of intensity to this same feeling.
After what seemed an interminably long while I managed to pull over to the side of the road and popped the hood. A first I did not get out of the car I rolled down the windows and let the engine idle. I cocked my already flapping ears for the tiniest of burrs in the purr of the engine. Hearing nothing I stepped out and lifted the hood gingerly as though any sudden movements might upset her (any car as sexy as she was at the time had to be female!)
I poked around aimlessly for a while before shrugging my shoulders in defeat and slamming the hood shut. I don’t think I should have done that! The Kizzler shuddered indignantly and went off. I scrambled like hell for the drivers seat and cranked the engine. It sputtered to life with what seemed like a mild reproach. Muttering various apologies and endearments under my breadth I gently eased her back onto the road.
Having made her point The Kizzler took it easy on me for the remainder of the week. That Friday my world came crashing down around my ears. I had made a solemn promise to never drink and drive. Now any lager guzzler worth his froth will tell you that there is nothing a seasoned drunkard despises quite as much as light beer. Can you imagine a watered down scotch? Trust me on this a watery beer is worse. That is the abomination that is light beer.
For the love of my new found mechanical mistress I forsook the fantastic head from a pilsner bottle for the lackluster allure of light beer. Until that fateful Friday afternoon.
I guess what I mistook for getting back together was a series of ‘Just-making-sure-you-remember-what-you-wont-be-getting-sex’ that is why there were mind blowing sessions ever since the break up and the hammer was about to come down on me that evening .
The fatal blow came in the form of a terse email informing me that I should desist from further contact until further notice. That email was the harbinger of a series of technology dumpings.I would subsequently be dumped over the phone both in office and cell phone and most painfully via SMS. Most recently I have been dumped on facebook via status update and change in relationship status. I have this distinct feeling that tweeter is not too far behind.
The thing about the email was that though there was nothing vitriolic in its construction per se there was clearly a lot of latent anger in the restraint that came seething through none the less. I could almost see the steam coming out of her ears as she banged away at the keyboard with a lopsided grimace on her face. That image really hurt.
I expected to fly into a rage or break down in tears or something. Nothing. I simply deleted the damn email and shut down my machine. In some sort of surreal trance I walked out of the office, drove home and went straight to bed. The Kizzler 2: BMK O
The next day my pal Josh had invited me over for a much anticipated house warming party which I had no intention of missing. The long and sort of it all is that I suffered from a delayed post trauma thingy and attempted to drown my rather buoyant sorrows. I surrendered my car keys to my other idiot friend Johnny aka the most useless designated driver ever!
This bugger not only plied me with copious amounts of alcohol but he also gave me back my car keys and watched in amusement as I turned my VRG into an F15 effectively turning the infamous Mbagathi roundabout into a landing strip!
The Kizzler 2: Lucifer 1: BMK -50k