We are not talking.
Correction: We are not talking to each other.
I am talking to people other than you. You are speaking to others who are not me.
On the night I tried to offer a reconciliation, the next morning Muslims were meant to wake in the wee hours to have their debut wali wa daku for the year.
I tried to crack through your iciness. You kept bringing it up over and over. Trying to show me who is the tougher of the two of us. I let you. But three times is a strike. Did I tell you I am ending this call before hanging up? It is my favourite line because it usually means one of two things:
1. We have been on call for a delightfully long time and there wa something I needed to get to so naturally, I needed to jump off the call.
2. You have exhausted me with your talking on the other end and after bearing your nonsense for a while, I was removing myself from that exposure but I am nice enough to inform you, rather than hanging up randomly.
The distinction of the two comes in the state I say them to you. The first, I will be giggling or smiling (you should be able to sense) while the second, I will be stern through the words. If I did tell you the word I am ending this call, I am sure it wasn’t the first scenario.
I wasn’t calling to apologize. I have no sorries in me to mutter to you. I wanted us to talk about it. The incessant calls you were making to my number. Missed call replaced by another missed call. You even attempted to connect with me on a WhatsApp call.
My day to day consists of viewing and posting memes. On the day you decided to browse my status, you picked your coffin and nailed it with a Noted text to my inbox abbreviated with two emojis depicting unamused faces.
The meme that rattled you was simply communicating courtesy to humans like yourself. When you call a person as many times as you did, it is basic knowledge to leave them a message of why you were seeking them. Something like, “Hey, I need to talk to you about… Call me back?” Is that hard? Didn’t you end communicating in 4/5 sentences when I prompted you?
You turned yourself a Cinderella and the shoe fit. So how is Prince Charming?
The night before Ramadhan when I was calling you, as we have established, was not to ask for forgiveness. My crime was failing to pick your calls. I knew exactly what you were going to blather about. I respect myself enough to avoid situations that will only make me jittery. All the times the phone rang with your name on the screen, I was assured you were going to shatter my walls of peace.
I didn’t expect you to receive my call. When you did, I wanted us to have a simple check in before removing the elephant from the room. You wouldn’t allow me. You felt my trying to keep things light was part of my plan to throw you off. To confuse you so you can forget the memecident. It is funny that this was what bit you the most. Not my missing the calls but a meme coming to me just in time reflecting your actions.
To keep me on track, you ask, “So why were you being a bitch?”
I don’t want this to turn into an argument. I keep calm. Do our normal check in before touching the subject. I avoid telling you I don’t want to hear that term, especially when it is referencing me. All the chances I give you, you turn me into a bitch.
For a person who has barely uttered my name, this was not a B-word I was expecting you to continuously brand me. I listened to babe transforming into a bitch. When the hurt began to sting, I reminded myself I didn’t need to become a dog on my airtime. I am ending this call.
It is normal for you. You and your best friend use it as the cover for BFF. I would understand why BFF can be unappealing. I leave it to you, I am not in the friendship circle of dogs. On the calls of those who swiped Accept, you probably referred to me as a bitch to ease your frustration. I can be okay with that. We don’t discuss the content of our friendships unless you let on.
Heck! Men abuse each other in the name of bromance and avoid the lenses of appearing gay.
All that is okay for you and those men. I find it demeaning. For a person claiming to like me, it is the last way I expect you to make me feel. Small, menial, low-status.
The F-word couldn’t leave my lips until I was about 22. I was surprised my vocal cords had the recklessness to voice such a word.
At the height of anger mixed with higher levels of disappointment once, I called someone a bitch. Of course I decorated it with adjectives to give it context as it was a text. I regretted my words when sanity came back to me. I sought their pardon after. The disbelief of them choosing to openly cause me a lot of pain bubbled the bitch up. I know I will never be able to call anyone else the B-word in writing or at face value.
I sing to the B-word in the verses of artists. You can’t enjoy those lyrics with censoring.
Here is a threesome of definitions:
- (dated or specialized, dog-breeding) A female dog or other canine, particularly a recent mother.
- (archaic, offensive) A promiscuous woman, slut, whore.
- In Urban dic (I had to do this), it is classified as one of the most versatile words: A bitch is just a bully in a skirt.
I don’t care for evolution, bitch remains the first to me.
Long live memes!
You, stay drinking.