By Gloria Mwaniga
Obviously, civilization brought with it a fair share of trouble for our otherwise nice and simple male species. From Dolly Parton’s very generous bust, to Shakira’s hips, Angelina Jolie’s lips and Serena Williams’ bountiful legs. I believe the brothers’ share of trouble was just as fair without adding a number line to it (and this has absolutely nothing to do with my long standing love hate relationship with math).
Whoever came up with the female grading system to determine attractiveness?
‘My woman has to be an eight,’……
‘I can only date a seven’…blah blah blah…
You keep hearing this everywhere, from the net to the radio and the streets. If you are one of those females who worried that you would forever be cast to a gloomy dungeon of solitary confinement because of this, help me ask this question, I am a six, so what?
A girl can make some grave mistakes in her life but excuse me for thinking that being a six is not one of them. More so, the high court is already falling apart with its numerous court cases without even adding the crimes women allegedly commit by being number six downwards on the attractivometer.
A colored girl.
In our Kenyanised version of the attractiveness grading, I know without being told that top among the reasons I fall in the 6 is because I am not a yellow yellow. Ok, I am guilty as charged but what seems to skip many a peoples mind is that there is absolutely nothing that I could have done about this no matter how early in life this below-the yellow- line condition was detected.
The other good I should have worked harder at was just to stick to being a black beauty, I hear they rank closer to the yellows (but unlike black beauty the fairy horse, I wasn’t born with jet black mane).
So it looks like in the color scheme, only the two extremes are legal and since none is my reality, then, I will just stick to my original story that being a six has absolutely nothing to do with my prettiness. After all, no male ever publicly disagreed with Indiare when she said she is not her skin.
The nine obviously has a thin waist encased in expanded hips and shapely legs, what nonsense! You and I both know that Paris Hilton is a sorry story of willful starvation for the sake of a slender waist and if you think Tyra didn’t try hard, then check out her photos of back when she won the modeling award and now. So, I am not going to spend foodless nights tucking in my stomach in for some guy who when I finally lose the tummy will sigh with relief and say, ‘one more thing baby, get rid of dat weave’
I am not my weave
If he has only a thing for the real and natural things of life like he claims to, then he should start off by abandoning his four by four and opting for the more natural way of self-transportation. Or better still, doing away with all the shiny china (save for the plates) in his living room. This will save a lot of me girls from the outdone ‘weaves are just fake; a real girl keeps her hair natural ‘line.
On this, I will only echo Alicia Key’s ‘And a real man can’t deny a woman’s worth’. And please note that this song has absolutely nothing to do with hairstyles.
A guy friend of mine once said that times have changed and a woman who still expects medieval acts like getting a bunch of roses from her modern man is setting herself up for disappointments. It is with the same breath that I say that any male who sits by the roadside with an algebra ruler waiting for a 8 or 9 girl to date might as well walk back into time and use Rapunzels long hair to climb up her tower.
Like the good 844 student that I once was, I will end with a poem
What If I am a six but I can cook
What if I am a six but I can wash your clothes without a washing machine
What if I am a six who still possesses the hidden ability to bear children?
what if I am a six who bathes with the diva soap
Tell me, would I still be a six.