Inspired by Drake, Doing it Wrong. I noticed both me and my sister seemed to have the song on our mind this week, so I decided to make something out of that (plus when I first heard this song I thought to myself the message is pretty deep). So here is the lyrics
And there is my piece.
Always Doing It Wrong
They meet, tenth date, she is counting the actual dates they have had together. Her girls tell her once you’ve reached the third date then this it. He wants you. By the fifth date it’s more or less official, whether he says so or not. They had a debate about the woohoo date, when should a girl give it up? They decided seventh date was safe. But now this was number ten and he had taken her to a lovely Purple Bar, it got its name because everything was purple. No, he hadn’t yet asked if she could be he’s girl, well he did but not officially, so she thought ‘if women can propose, I can ask him to be my man’. The piano played, giving the air that sweet sugar sprinkled feel (she loved sugar on everything), couples voices whispered secretly, feeling naughty at the smallest touch of their other halves. He’s mind seemed elsewhere today, her aim was to take whatever it was off he’s mind. After all, she was going to make him hers.
They talked, she flirted as if it was a first date, he smiled, she used her heel to rub he’s leg, he hesitated, at first, then started to enjoy it. They pecked, they kissed, held hands, shared drinks, fed each other snacks, laughed a little, she always knew how to make him loose himself in laughter.
Home time, her and the girls agreed the tenth date was when a girl was allowed to bring the man to her place, he had been up to her door to kiss her goodnight, the seventh date ended up in he’s flat but now he was welcome to step into her’s. A silent sign for her to say he is welcome into her life.
‘Look, babe I need to tell you something….’ He started after he comfortably sat on her leather sofa. Alarms flashed in her mind, those lines were used to start of something bad. The quickest thing a woman can do to make a guy love her is…give him what he wants (yep, her friends all agreed on that one for sure).
‘Cant it wait’. She worriedly smiled from her miniature kitchen, which was only a half wall away from the sofa he was slouched on, ‘I am just about to take a shower’ she said with a sly smile, and no man can resist that, she thought.
Once she got out the shower, and headed straight to him. They looked at each other.
No she didn’t just get out the shower, I was just about to…daymm I forgot what an obstruction clothes were, he thought to himself.
I’ve got him just where he needs to be. She smiled to herself.
They came closer, kissed, touched.
Hmm, I wish there was a little more chemistry, she thinks to herself, forgetting that empty feeling she usally felt when they got to this part, especially since there seemed to be no lead up. He suddenly got animal eyes the moment he saw her. Most the time this was the only thing she could think of when conversation ran dry (which seemed to happen more often on each date).
Daymm she is so daymm good, he’s mind wondered. This was the blank zone, he could imagine Beyoncé, Rhianna, that model from the lingerie ad and he would still be having fun.
Silence, they both lay there.
She seems to get offended when I leave too soon, so I’ll stay for an hour. He thinks to himself taking a quick peek at the time.
Why is he not speaking? Why do we not have long conversations about something academic like Deenah and her man? Why doesn’t he ever offer to do something else every now and then like Franki’s man does? In fact why am I not even he’s official girl yet? Maybe Sienna was right, maybe I should be single like her and take each man on a long test run. Her mind was racing, with questions, followed by answers, mostly from her girls, and a few of those ‘How to understand a man’s mind’ books.
This is awkward; usually she has something to say about her hair or girlfriend. ‘Lets see what’s on TV. I heard that show was on’ he smiled taking advantage of the machines existence. So on came the TV. That reality show where the woman can’t find her baby’s fathers was on. Then a few soap operas which seemed to all have women slapping each other, then a few interviews, the news, the news seemed to be the best bet, something about a girl being killed by her family for being too Western.
Maybe he wants to stay the night. Maybe he wants a snack. She relaxes feeling like wife material. ‘I have some food in the fridge I made yesterday. ‘
She’s offering me food! Sure! ‘Thanks cool.’ He replies effortlessly. In the meantime still planning an escape route.
He ate, she had a few bites off he’s spoon, she had to ask, but he didn’t mind. He had to leave, her plan was crumbled, it was like watching her moment to prove she was he’s one gone. Maybe She planned to do the big ‘proposal’ later on that night. Maybe next time she will just plan ahead.
He leaves, he spent an extra hour, just to be nice. Now he had to think of what to do when he arrived home.
We got carried away with football; I left something at work; I had to help Patrick out with that project; there was a fire, or leak and I was called behind by the boss to fix it. He was sure he used every line under the sun to convince he’s pregnant fiancé that he was not cheating.
Story Mode by Piarvé Wetshi is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.