9.00a.m.: Went to Angela’s room to borrow her iron box. I hardly dress up when going to class; just throw on a sweater and already worn jeans, but I’m meeting Dave at one and class ends at one, I won’t have time to come back to the room and change. Note to self: master the class timetable. I’ve picked out my little orange dress and a black crotchet sweater I got from Gikomba.
10.00a.m.: Classmates I bumped into on my way to Torts class insisted that I looked great. I should dress up more often.
12.00p.m.: I had made sure to sit next to Angela so that I could leave her my notebook and handouts. Immediately I left class Dave called; I should meet him at a restaurant I’ve never heard of before. The restaurant was at Westlands and he gave me sketchy directions amid my subtle protests. I thought I’d be meeting the guy somewhere in the CBD, that way if anything went wrong and he turned out to be some sociopath I could scream my lungs out and leave the rest to a mob. But Westlands! People there just mind their own business.
So I’d have time after all to go back to the room, Westlands being only ten minutes away from campus. I rummaged through my drawer and found my contact lenses, a gift from Angela, she’d had a dream in which I had green eyes and I looked angelic (her word). Thank God for wealthy generous friends. I thought of changing the orange dress for an off white chiffon top and brown high waist pants then my phone beeped. A text from Angela asking if I’d met him yet. What had I been doing for an entire thirty five minutes!
12.40p.m.: I took a taxi right outside the campus gates. I could run to Westlands but would get there all sweaty. The driver said he knew where the restaurant was and would leave me at its gate, and maybe pick me up later?
12.55p.m.: Dave looked pleased I wasn’t late. I didn’t have to call him when I got there as his car pulled up just behind my taxi. When we shook hands his gaze was fixed on my face and I knew it was my eyes.
“Erm…what colour are your eyes?”
“Green!” with a flirtatious chuckle immediately after. Why did I do that?
The restaurant, well, it’s the best I’ve been to…so far. I definitely made up for the chapo and matumbo I had yesterday. A funny, rather embarrassing, incident happened when we were ordering drinks. He asked for a gin and tonic. I’d been staring at the menu long enough to memorize it but I knew what I wanted. I couldn’t possibly order an alcoholic drink lest he think I’m a drunk but I didn’t want any of their tropical blend smoothies either. I wanted a soda, a cold sprite. I know I could have a sprite any other time but I wanted it then; call it cravings.
“I’ll have a cold sprite. With a wedge of lemon, please.” I added that to seem sophisticated(but sprite with lemon in it is heavenly).
“Ati?” That order should have gone smoothly but the waiter just had to ruin it. What was too complicated about bringing my glass of soda with a lemon in it? She just didn’t like me. I simply eyed her, trying to get my dislike of her across.
“Bring her her soda with a slice of lemon in it.” Dave to the rescue.
7.00p.m.: I’ve been back since five and Angela is nowhere to be found…group work. Note to self: find out which group I’m in. I need to tell her the kind of job I’ve signed up for. I feel I need her approval, she’s the only one I can tell anyway.
BY ESTHER KARIUKI