You might be the girl next door or next estate or the girl from the office. You could be anyone. This is a letter from a girl who can’t cook.
I hate cooking. I hate how my hands smell after cutting onions. I hate the feel of tomatoes on my hand. Wet hands gives me the creeps. I don’t even eat using my hands no matter the delicacy. It could be fish or KFC chicken, but I would rather starve than touch that food with my bare hands. I panic when someone tells me I have to eat with my hands.
I’m not like every other African woman. Most of them are trained to clean, bleed, cook and clean after him. I dislike most of the said duties. I bleed since I cannot escape mother nature. I clean because dirt irritates me. Especially dirty bathrooms. Cook? We can always buy food. Clean after him? He is an adult Right? With hands and not sick? DIY applies.
I take this opportunity to thank you for cooking for him. The him here is my boyfriend and I don’t know what you two are to each other. Best friends? Mega best friends? The girl he ll marry? The girl he is sleeping with for a plate of food? Just a girl? Honestly I don’t care.
I was just wondering. Does he pay you in kind? Does he send you money? Does he take you shopping? Does he promise you that he ll leave me for you? What does it feel being his dirty little secret? Or are you not a secret anymore, just dirty? Well, you are no longer a secret anymore now that I know you exist. So, how does it feel being the one he shoves after a full stomach and probable sex? You even went a notch higher and now you do house delivery. I get the used plastic tin a lot lately. Is he too busy to even come eat at your place? Or is this new arrangement your plan for moving in? I mean it starts little by little. You started with your cheap utensils you know. I was just wondering, how many of this plastics do you have? I throw them away when I find them you know.
I was going to leave him for you. I just changed my mind. We can both have him. I mean he is enough for two, right? Especially the part where you slave for him and I get VIP treatment. I’m totally okay with that. Please keep feeding him. He doesn’t miss homemade food this days. Thanks to you. You are like the Jesus of my life. That’s a terrible analogy but you get the point. I suppose.
I hope someday you will learn that you cannot make them love you. You can scrub ‘my bathroom’ spotless. I’m using ‘my’ in this context to mean his bathroom though. You can scrub my bathroom spotless on weekends I’m either away or busy, you can cook him dinner daily, you can wash his clothes, you can even baby him like mommy does but sweetie you can’t make him love you.
If you think I’m just bragging and belittling you. Then how else he hasn’t left me for you? Why does he ignore your calls when I’m with him? Whose arms does he end up in after being with you? You cry when he leaves you for the night because he has to be home, doesn’t he? I like the evening he has been to your place. He is usually sweet, it’s amazing what guilt can do to people.
If I were you I would dump his sorry ass. But I’m not you. You can stay stuck in this hopeless relationship or you can walk away. Close that door and you just might get your man. I did not use true love, because maybe he really is your true love. With hearts we don’t know.
Or you could stay. He just might change his mind. We never know what tomorrow holds. But one thing I pray, I pray never to be a girl like you.
I pray to be strong enough to walk away from being used. I pray to never be the other woman intentionally. I pray to never clean after any man other than my son. My husband should be old enough to be able to clean his mess.
From the girl he is cheating on, with you.