MY VALENTINE TROUBLES By Pablo 98736 I learnt the hard way that not every girl is into flowers. I once dated a Mukiga girl who had never shown any interest in flowers. One Valentine’s day, I decided to surprise her with a bouquet and window-size Valentine’s card. I show up at her door and knock; she opens the door. I hand her the flowers and that was the beginning of trouble. She gave me two frying-pan-size slaps, pulled and twisted my left ear, and used the flowers to randomly hit me as she yelled at the top of her voice: “Ebimuri barabirya? Oranyeta enjoki? Hobwe kuwagura emondi omu mwanya gw’okushiisha sente. Kankwatagure oshube ogurebusha.” Loosely translated, she said: “Do they eat flowers? Do you think I’m a bee? You would have bought Irish potatoes instead of wasting money. Let me beat you so that you don’t buy useless things again.” By the time she was done, what was once a bouquet had become a collection of stems. I called off the relationship and took some time off to heal. It was during those days in my desert when a Mutooro girl walked into my life. A few days down the road, she gave me a birthday alert. My friends told me to buy her flowers but I had learnt my lesson well. I bought a sack of Irish [potatoes] and a complimentary ddebe (a measuring tin) of beans. She was wearing a flowery dress when I delivered my package. She gasped and said, “Binu nibyo byakyo byoleesire Pablo wange kyaali?” meaning “Are these the flowers you have brought for me, my darling Pablo?” She then slammed the door in my face. She left me confused. How do you ‘darling me’ and slam the door in my face at the same time? I thought that was a new way of expressing affection that I wasn’t accustomed to. Before I knew it, her brothers appeared out of the blue and started using my Irish [potatoes] to stone me out of the gate. I have never seen her and my ddebe of beans again. I kept asking myself, what is it that girls want? A few months later, I met a Karimojong girl. I had never seen such a fast-speaking woman in my entire life. She was like a combination of Andrew Mwenda and Rasta Rob. She always had an opinion on anything even if she had no slight idea about it. She once told me that Tiger Woods would have made it more if he had concentrated on wood ball and selling Tigerhead battery cells. I’ll save her stories for another day. She gave me a vivid description of how she wanted her birthday to be two weeks in advance. When the date was getting close I tried to remember what she had told me but I couldn’t yet she was constantly updating me on events to happen in two weeks’ time. She always mentioned spears and lugabire, (shoes made of tyre rubber) in almost all her stories; so, I thought she had an immense passion for them. I bought her a pair of spears and lugabire. She was so excited and squeezed me, in the name of giving me a hug. The next day she invited me to her house. She had put all the furniture aside, hung her mattress on the ceiling and gave me a spear. “Eyai esolima ngolo apolon kai na. Emaikina iwon ewarutu oara. Kikyarite akwara kidiama ka kidareu mati ka kaedak,” she commanded, which means, “There is a rat in this house. We have to hunt and kill it. Hold the spear high and wait for my signal.” A huge rat jumped out of a pot next to where I was standing and behold, a flying lugabire passed in front of my face and hit the pot. The rat jumped and landed on my hat, prompting her to aim at it with her spear. I tried to scream just to stop her and she shouted back, “You are scaring the rat. Stay put and I show it fire. I need to use this present.” I threw the spear I was holding and took cover. She caned me with the spear prompting me to flee through the window at Usain Bolt speed. I erased her number from my phonebook. Beware of the presents you buy for others, they might use them against you.