Boys Will Be Boys
An associate posed me an intractable question any male, given ten lifetimes would find it a little too overwhelming for his liking. The most nimblest of rappers, the wisest amongst scholars, a charismatic war dictator, even for a moment or two, I'm sure would stumble in their vast knowledge before conjuring up an unsatisfying acrid reply.
"Why does my boyfriend cheat on me despite me being filial, loving and sincere to him?", the associate of mine queried. I tried hard within a nanosecond to deliver a witty riposte but ended up shaking my head and unconvincingly muttered, "Hmmm, maybe it's because you've been neglecting him? Guys need a little attention too at times you know?". "Forget it! What do you guys know anyway!", she silenced me off. To be honest, I was glad our discussion did not precipitate into something ugly. Reputations are at stake, and I prefered for mine to remain intact.
I must admit that her question made me ponder for the remaining hours that was left of my day at the office. In an ideal world, I'd settle for the fact that any male should be contented with what is presented to them. Alas, our world isn't like that since the evolution of time. Only a male would understand the necessity to untiringly seek self improvement.
Think about it, if Men in general were meant to be contented, Mr Stone Age would not have created sparks and eventually fire by knocking on 2 pieces of stone. Mr Monkey Man would not have created spears to catch him a salmon in the rivers. Mr Alexander Bell would not have invented the telephone and we would have to use paper cups with zillions of strings in between them. Imagine! What an ugly world that would be. Hey, Mr Albert Einstein would not have invented electricity and we would have to make love in pitch black conditions. Imagine!
Well 6.30pm came, and I was off to 'collect' some goods which I 'purchased' from one of the more glamorous shopping centres in town. You see, a good friend of mine has been working in a particular boutique there for a good number of years now. And when people constantly asks me, where do you dig all the money for all the fine threads hanging in your wardrobe. "I slog blood and tears for it!", I'd always reply. For good or for bad, that statement is just partially true.
And so I waited at the wooden bench opposite the lingerie shop with a book on my lap. Occasionally, I glanced my head up to relieve myself from the strains derived from reading... unerved by the events that was about to happen. We were professionals in this crime. Subconsiously, I monitored the people going in and out of my 'escape' door which was probably about 2 metres to the right of the bench I was warming.
It was interesting trying to analyse the people that entered that Lingerie store. There are days when though I was too far away to listen, I could roughly make out what was being said to these customers. I've seen shy guys trying to explain to the sales assistant what they want to get for their loved ones. I've seen teenage boys fret uneasily as their girlfriends browse through the kinky numbers. I've seen fat women fuming when being told that such delicacies does not come in size 984757438987. Then for the first time that day, I spotted a MILF entering the store with her adorable 5 year old son trailing behind.
As Mummy was busy going through the lace section, cute lil boy was staring hard at the protruding assests of the store's mannequin. He pranced around the mannequin for a couple of rounds, eyes wide open. Then cheekily, he unzipped the front portion of an outrageously kinky panty. Like the naughty boy that he is, he must have realised the damage done and he ran toward his mum's side and acted all innocent, complete with droopy puppy eyes. He deserved an Oscar for that. No one saw that episode but me. I smiled to myself as I returned to my book.
Constantly thankful for the invention of digital watches, the alarm went off as the time showed 20:02. I got up, made my way through the door, grabbed the handles of my HUGE paratrooper Army bag already there fillially waiting and just had enough time to see the bottom half of my accomplice's legs scurrying up the flight of stairs. Within minutes, I hailed a taxi cab and was on my way home.
That night as I lay in bed, I can't help pondering on the events of the day, constantly still musing over that question being posed to me. I thought about the actions of the cheeky little boy. I thought about our insatiable habit of heisting expensive branded clothings and accessories. I thought about unfaithful husbands and boyfriends. I tried hard to device a sound justification or rationale behind all these actions. Perhaps the age old saying has pure truth to it all. Perhaps, some things are better left unexplained. Perhaps... Boys Will Always Be Boys.
