aqumada

            I turned my laptop on and ordered my fingers to tap dance all over the keyboard. Thus started the first paragraph....."The butt, without a doubt, is one of the seven wonders of the world when presented in its perfect form. This asset has long been devalued by abesha women. Skeptical? Then observe one of them walk from behind. Every time she takes a step, one of the butt cheeks is still oscillating from a prior stride she had taken 3 or 4 seconds ago. Our tireless scientists have figured out a way to identify abesha women by using the "jiggle test." This is where you have the woman in question turn around, then smack her butt cheeks and hit the start button on your stopwatch. Jiggling time less than five seconds.......definitely not abesha." I lifted my fingers from the keyboard for a while. That was an excellent start. I actually feel liberated. It is as if a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. If I could only have that much weight lifted magically from this belly hanging over my zipper I wouldn't be pissing on myself all the time.

            I dropped my fingers on the keyboard again but the brain was having its own moment of silence. My fingers remained motionless until the recurring hallucination that had gripped my brain run its course. I imagine I’m at a game show. "Let me try Obvious Facts for $500, Alex" I request. Sure enough he reads the answer in a resonating voice "Stuck-up, aloof, conceited are all descriptive terms for her." Excitement builds in my system. I have never been this sure of an answer before. "what is the typical abesha woman?" I scream out loud. The crowd cheers in admiration of my fund of knowledge. Their cheer always wakes me up and so it did. I looked down. My fingers had already started moving...... "The narcissistic gene must be located on the one X chromosome that is lacking in guys and evidence suggests this gene is activated by injera. Throw out a better explanation my way and I am ready to listen. They say chivalry is dead. I bet it died in a battle fighting abesha women's modesty. The casualties of that war are always under reported. Abesha women's modesty died that day too, hence the same girl that you used to tell to go and fetch you a cup of water in Addis now refuses to accept the wine you've brought her in a crystal glass. In these neck of the woods, a friend once said, abesha women get so used to being called "the African queen" by every major playa of every nation. They buy into it, thus resulting in the over inflated ego which they try to pass off as confidence." Please!!! Confidence is when you are me and you tell everyone in the chat room (the only place I have a realistic shot at scoring) that you're so hot, you single handedly contribute 7 percent to global warming." As I typed this last thought it triggered a subject I had almost ignored.

            At some point in our lives, most of my friends and I have all found ourselves in a place like no other. It is tranquil, calm and serene. The price tag is expensive. Although we try hard to resist, we always fall for the false advertising. No, it is not Fiji . You are just in the bedroom with an abesha woman. That all of them turn out to be this way makes me suspect some sort of mass conspiracy. Who knows? Maybe the bedroom is like an abesha woman's Kryptonite and has too many constrictive forces. In any case, it makes you wonder what their response would be to a very common question at the doctor’s office; "are you sexually active?" Most would probably answer "No doc, I usually try to save up enough energy to watch Oprah later." This is so reminiscent of my first encounter with that same question. I told my physician “most times I find myself laying on my back crying out words of encouragement to no avail." One plausible rationalization I had heard claimed that abesha women tend to be timid in the bedroom because of the way they were brought up. I believed it too, until all my non abesha friends told me how freaky their abesha girlfriends were. By deductive reasoning, abesha men must be the Kryptonite for abesha women. I, for one, am having surgery in two weeks to have my Kryptonite part taken out.

             Since no sparks get ignited in the bedroom, most often I am left to study other distinctive traits. My eyes unavoidably focus on the calves. The calves of abesha women are so classic, they are as good as a dental record for the purposes of identification. So what is the problem with the calves? Well, it'll be nice if they have them. Unfortunately genetics has not blessed abesha women with the muscle group that is found in the posterior aspect between the knee and the ankle. In all honesty, however, the problem with the calves is the lack of definition and in that regard it is not a body part without company. Of the 30,000 abesha women that live in the same state as I do, 25,000 of them claim to workout regularly. This is fabulous! Now, I just need to find a good reason why I've counted 30,000 pairs of legs that harbor so much cellulite the thighs have dimples the cheeks are envious of.. As an abesha I am frustrated to only see abesha legs with definition only when Fatuma Roba or Derartu Tulu are running the marathon.

            I paused for a second to recollect my thoughts. It was time to thank god for making me modest, humble, reserved, down to earth with unparalleled sexual prowess and superb fitness to match it. I put my laptop away and looked around. The incessant clicking of the keyboard has now stopped, eerie silence has taken over the room. I tucked in my love handles and got off the couch. In front of me, hanging on the door, was a full body length mirror. The guy in the mirror gave me a gentle smile. I smiled back. We had known each other since way back. I knew he wanted me to strike a side pose and I complied without hesitation. Suddenly I heard the voice of my own vanity ask  

"mirror, mirror on the wall

don't I have the finest ass of 'em all?"

It took forever for the reply to come back and as I started to age, It said "take six steps forward so I can scan the whole image."

Son of a bitch!!! I shall never buy a cheap mirror from Chinatown again. Slowly I headed to the bedroom. It had been a good day thus far and it shall end on a good note as well.  

            Not until I got under the covers did it hit me that I can not publish this under my own name. This is a sexual suicide. I could almost feel the wrath of abesha women closing in on me. I had to think of a good pen name fast. My mind kept racing in search of one.... Henock, Aelaf, Michael, Harnet, Biniam. What am I saying? I must be crazy to think abesha women would fall for that. They will hunt me down with or without a pen name. Better stick to the historically proven method of old fashioned prayer.  

            In the dark room, I crept out of bed and felt my knees hit the cheap rug underneath me. Definitely not the way I like to get my carpet burns. I rested my elbows on my bed, closed my eyes and hoped the gods would be listening. Then I started my prayer:  

"In the name of the one super-model we have

and of the countless abesha beauties 

and of the phantom girlfriends I've lost.

Our abesha babes who art in abesha land and elsewhere

beautiful be thy name. Thy wrath cometh, for it always does and always will.

Give me my daily ration of abesha love and forgive my blasphemy

as I forgive those abesha women who give out fake numbers;

and lead me directly into temptation as that is how I accumulate my fantasies.

For god knows, my dry season after this will last for eons. Amen."