The Case of The Hairy Female Presenter

The light from the bar was ample enough. I could see everybody who was important enough to be seen like the barman. In the seats across the bar were a group of people, and trying to be polite and also to score some bonus points with Barman who doubles up as the owner of the bar, I strode over to say hello to his guests.

I knew what I was doing. The hellos would be over before the minute was up and that would be that. With arm outstretched I clasped the hand of First Guest and Second Guest and shook them. When it came to Third Guest, my “hello” was so loud that even the deafest person could have heard it.

But something was going wrong here. Tell a lie, it had already gone horribly wrong! Third Guest who I thought was a man was not a man but a lady! How on earth could I have missed that? Her bosom was not exactly small that they even stood out with an invisible banner that read: “Get a hold of these 34DD’s.” She even had long hair so how could I have missed that feminism about her? Well I did.

Is there a Plan B when one is in this situation? Well I had no Plan B. I just stood there. My bladder which had been emptied only moments ago was suddenly on the verge of a major breakdown while my bowel had every intention of giving way and messing up my underwear. And with a major catastrophe looming, I still stood there lost for words.

Did I have a Plan C? I did. I hoped that the heavens would strike me down with a bolt of lightning. I thought I should either say sorry or just walk away and pretend nothing happened. To be honest, I can’t remember what I did and how I got out of the predicament. I just remember sitting at a table a few minutes later muttering: “Idiot, idiot” for a while.

A while back, Capital FM had a segment on The Morning Show, where listeners called in and vented their anger. Calling in, I unleashed my wrath on women who wear low cut blouses and yet have more hair on their chests than the average Nakivubo kanyama. That afternoon with more than a deal of misfortune, I had a meeting at the station. Before the meeting started, I chatted to Female Presenter who was not particularly amused by my morning rant.

“Eh, Timo” she said, “that rant of yours this morning was below the belt. Some women unfortunately have hair in the wrong places. It is not their fault.” But I was not listening to her even when it was plainly obvious by the look on her face that, she was trying to tell me something very close to heart. Given the chance to rebut, I had this to say:

TB: “But Female Presenter, listen here, if you chicks have hairy chests, why don’t you cover up or do something to get rid of it?”

Female Presenter: “Timo have you ever seen me wearing a low cut blouse?”

TB: “I can’t recall – why?”

Female Presenter: “I don’t wear them because I have a hair between by breasts.”
TB: (To himself) “Eek! And I thought she was hot babe, but hair between boobs? Not cool.”

Whatever sexy thoughts I had of Female Presenter evaporated in seconds and despite her eyes looking for sympathy that not even the late Mother Theresa or Princess Diana could muster, there was only one way out of the quagmire – to be struck down by a bolt of lightning.