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Some days are just innately different from the rest. You wake up and you know. Before you pulse open your eyes or draw your sheer, flowered or calico curtains, before you groggily walk to the pristine white shower and smile at your swollen face, before you check for trending topics and try decipher the Gaza madness, you just know. You know that something has changed. In the calm ominous world, the uninterrupted cycles of biology, society and culture, in the kitschy population profile, in that nest, an egg has cracked, a domino has fallen, the season is altered and a chain of reaction of choices has begun.

It is this morning that the fancy balls of aging have called in a new truth. I am 25. I am a woman (Cue Toni Braxton’s Woman). I was a woman yesterday and last year, but now I can officially take offense at being called ‘toto’. And push red ants up the epididymis of the man who gets the heady idea to call me that. At 21, I looked at 25 the same way a form two student looks at KCSE. As a benchmark, an introspection point, a sojourning point. Dreams of a house, car, job, boyfriend, have been answered in the twisted symphony that God does business. (Oh God, bliss). And talking of gods, Usher Raymond has deemed every bit okay, that as I turn 25, he sings good kisser. Oh, dare my guilty pleasure.

Therefore, as the mercurial clouds turn from azure to grey, I do not feel like writing too much. I need some me time. No, I’m not going to touch myself. That is not what ladies do when they are alone. We scrub and moisturize, pamper and munch then shop and dress up. So I’ll be jolly and grateful. For my mother who sent me MPESA in the dead of the night. That indubitably splendid lady. I get to pick up my phone and actually call her, this simple pleasure of mine. You will never understand this elation until when you cannot,God forbid.

I’m grateful for you my blog family. Those who come here weekly to read tales that I am deluded may make your day. Sometimes as I read your comments, I try to make up in my mind the sort of people you are. Kamau is the grammar nazi. He once inbox-ed me to let me know I had not put a full stop at the end of my sentence. I have I book you should read Kamau,”Eats, Shoots and Leaves.” You are welcome. Vicky is the kind lady in the office who smiles at you even when she is firing you. She is kind, and smiles go a long way. BenzerBett knows all rap songs word for word, No?

Nzisa has a new novel each month on her desk. She’ll walk your worded journey with you this one. Don likes Tupac, he must. Who says, ‘had me nodding like I’m flowing to thy rhyming”? I wish Jack G left more comments. Thanks Judy. Nadia your soul wreaks sweetness from Kigali to Nairobi. The Ghost readers who wait in the wings leaving faint footprints as they leave the worded office, say something. Let us smell you.

I have to turn with the wheels; be 25. To go finding 25 flower stems, give 25 kisses and buy 25 seedless grapes. And for heaven’s sake, I hope I have more than 25 eggs left in my tubes for Mr right is somewhere lost, wary and scrawling little notes on how he waited for me. I know I am. I hope I meet some of you. I wish for 25 beautiful adventurous weeks to the end of the year and 25 orders at my dress making shop. O Lord, grant me instant gratification.

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