I am not a Roman father and equally have no plans of becoming one in the future. With this anti- Roman father declaration, I hope to join the table of men one day in my life. Unequivocally put, I also have the wildest reverie of getting married one day as the tick-tock sound of the clock is clear for all to hear including the deaf. An institution some say is marred by ups and downs. Other school of thought hold the view that it is an eternal prison but I am still determined to become an inmate.
Because of this, I have marshalled my thought and deem it absolutely obligatory to have an abstract intercourse with my prison mate whom for the sake of this article I affectionately referred to as Mrs. Romantic. Brace yourself up for a long abstract and romantic intercourse which should not suffer a minute hiatus even if it means removing the bracelet on your hand. It is a long article because I firmly trust that getting married to a wrong person can traumatize my happiness and jeopardize my future for a period longer than the time I have wasted in writing this write-up.
Mrs. Romantic, I will not pay a deserving attention to your tribe not because I am a bad player of the tribal card but my religion and common sense will not allow it to fly. It will be shot down! All I will demand from you is mutual respect. Truth be told forthright, I always fall in love with gorgeous women in a half way with the complete love and care awaiting you.
You are invisible to my visible eyes though but I am convinced you are already beautiful without a make-up. I believe by now you are seated in a small corner with your natural gifted body properly covered and eyelashes without mascaras that can make a man loss like the Bermuda Triangle. I will urge you to keep hiding your gifts by keeping them wrapped and do not be like that indecently dressed woman in a hip pop video. I recently met a newly- wedded woman in town and I was totally smitten by her way of dressing. She made me bent the rules and ruled in favor of those who think fashion reasonable is not fashion unreasonable.
Mrs. Romantic, I have always developed undesirable feelings for extravagant weddings. I am not a staunch advocate of expensive wedding with import of modern culture since am an admirer of frugal weddings. I will not spread a red carpet on that day neither to talk of buying a dead animal’s tail for your holding pleasure. Our wedding day shall be the best day the planet earth will ever see devoid of reckless expenditure and needless incurred cost. I know you will bear a striking resemblance of the water I drink every day; I will not take it lightly if you want us to replicate the expensive wedding that has taken over the city with pictures flooding the social media space of thousand likes since thousand likes on Facebook with a probably proportion of ghost accounts will not come to our aid when economic quagmire catches us up.
I am not a misogynist. I don’t envy women who have achieved greater heights in the field of academia or in any other field. I like women who are very brilliant, always challenging the status quo and ideas-oriented. I will not hesitate settling with you because of your academic title or your prestigious job only if our love for each other is genuine and not a lie beyond the detecting capability of a polygraph. The secrete admiration of mine for women who have achieved or yet to achieve greater heights in their various fields is nonnegotiable. I also believed in the saying that “what men can do; women can even do it better”. This notwithstanding, I promised to love you more than you will do.
Women by creation are overly curious! I understand also that “curiosity kills the cat”, nonetheless, always feel free to put me in witness box for cross examination on any legitimate issue as curiosity will not kill a cat of your caliber. I despise sharing of classified information solely for the consumption of Mr. Romantic and Mrs. Romantic. I know there is a gossiping gene in the Deoxynucleic acid (DNA) of every lady but always be aware of divulging. Divulging can lead to divorce! There is a sharp dissimilarity between unnecessary interference by in-laws and the giving of maximum respect to in-laws. The former is absolutely unwarranted and needless and the latter is a moral responsibility and needful. My love for in-laws who mounts no pressure for offspring because of a present lack of children in our marriage done on us by the chief doer of all doers is incomparable. Best in-laws only help in prayers for a grandchild for a put on their laps.
Who will not want to marry a universal cook? I will certainly marry a woman who cooks best of not only ‘indomie’ and spaghetti but other delicacies. Voila! I can eat ‘banku’ with hot pepper and tilapia more than Kwame Dzokoto of ‘Eziban’s’ fame even if I am on the sick bed, although I have not settled on my favorite food yet. For the records of this romantic feature, I don’t dignify women who will soak maize flour in water and leave it overnight and name it a step in the preparation of ‘Tuo Zaafi’. Exceed the limit of the ‘chop bar’ I used to visit before meeting you. Cooking is not undemanding job, I know because the first time I tried inputting cooking ingredients to have stew as my output on campus I ended up having a stew without maggi highly concentrated with salt. Clearly, my algorithm was full of bugs that needed to be debugged, nonetheless, I hope I will never shout “sweetheart the food is burning” before you start salvaging the unburnt.
Without any modicum of pretense, I have realized that dark-skinned women are on their way to extinction in modern day Ghana. It is becoming serious and completely antithetical to jocularity and the moral teachings of society. There is unremitting burning desire in women to make sure that their skins become lighter than the broad daylight and brighter than their future damn the upshot. This clumsy attitude is just unimaginable to the extent that I didn’t realize the time I boot my Duo core computer with my provoking MTN’s internet to email this article. It is ludicrous if not ridiculous! What matters most to them is the buying of cosmetics with elements of bleach and not the free melanin given them for free protection from the ultraviolent rays from the scorching sun in a continent hotter than bakery. I am always nonplussed by this school of thought!
Mrs. Romantic, don’t imitate the careless attitude of these category of women because very soon their knuckles and toes will become black and the rest of the body will be pale by then they would have start to look like the roasted plantain I buy with roasted groundnut on the street of Tamale. Keep the complexion you came into this world with from the maker through my In-laws. Perhaps, you have not seen me, I am very dark in complexion but I harbour no plans of imitating Bukum Banku any day because the last time I checked, human beings were not snakes and as such can’t have sloughs. You may not laugh because you will even laugh if I reveal that I am black as the asphalted road linking Tamale to Kintampo!
Mrs. Romantic, you must always look beautiful but I hate excessive make-ups as it can make you look like a Baboon from a congress of Baboons. The quantum of the hate can best be likened to this detest of mine for homosexuality which has received global repugnance. Adding beauty every day to beauty is natural of every woman because of the insatiable demand of beautifulness by Mr. Romantic. It also keeps Mr. Romantic’s eye away from the potential competitors of Mrs. Romantic; for the former is aware of the latter’s replica in the house. Of a truth, I naturally loathe a lady whose gorgeous face is marketed by Azar paint in partnership with Deluxy paint and brought to you by the kind courtesy of a commercial advert on a televised program needless to talk about the wear of your lifeless colleague’s hair who is a Brazilian or a Peruvian, the least talk about their nails, the better. Perhaps I don’t want to say the African woman is not proud of herself. Don’t tell me the marketing battle is fought in the minds of consumers, hence, the need to always look different from your colleagues!
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