Were I a girl, there are men I’d never give two shits about!

Collins Osanya
No girl studying a degree course, not even under the influence of witchcraft or ovulation should flirt with, kiss, text back (unless it’s strictly classwork) or hung around a male campus MC, DJ, dancer, musician/music producer, photographer or model for more than two minutes unless she wants to be eaten kimandazi, cheated on, have her heart broken or her womb filled with a baby whose daddy is sharp idiot only capable of reasoning through that thing in his loins.

These fellows appear chic and suave, even moneyed. They stand at a higher rung on the campus life ladder, owning an amount of influence in university fairs but they are a threat to a young girls’ tertiary education, happiness, emotional and physical health. Especially now that ladies in first, second even third year are teenagers easily preyed upon by petty womanizers that these folks are.

A model pal of mine, we’ll name him Mark, has since our days in first year to date broken the hearts of more than fifteen girls. I’ve witnessed as he snaked his cunning self into the pants of chicks- some so smart I’d like- smitten by his trendy (borrowed) suits and coastal charm only to be forgotten once he’d eaten their fruits. And intriguing enough, chicks kept going back for a tasty test of his spear (shared life a frying pan in an estate in Nyalenda, Kisumu) which in most times left them ‘bleeding’ and hurt. I wonder, a model?

A man who just catwalks? Come on girls! You don’t study physics in high school only to fall in love with home science in campus. But we cool Mark, hehe, you still a bro.

As a flaw in character, I don’t take seriously any girl whose boyfriend is a dancer. Because I know she’s being cheated on and she’s either drunk in love or too foolish to know that her bae isn’t just dancing in her hall but many halls. Can I be proved wrong? MCs, DJs and photographers are wannabe cool guys. The sort who sip Carlsberg or Heineken while dancers twanga one Guinness the whole night in a club. They are corny fellows who ride on their hype to get laid, chicks as I’ve come to learn, love glamour, something flashy. And girls, the worst flashy men to bed are these, as a girl I once liked would say, are a joke of a man.

So girls, be women, sensible. If you must spread your legs for any of these fellows, compare his character and attributes to your dad, then go ahead and have fun. You’ve been warned

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