I see ladies wearing these beads and memories of how I almost met the creator come back flashing.
In 1971 when Amin had just assumed power, I invited my girlfriend Vicky to celebrate the downfall of Milton Obote’s mafias. Everyone was tired of how people were disappearing on the earth surface. Many of us didn’t burry our relatives but, hey, it was time to celebrate this in style.
When Vicky entered my cottage house (read mud house), we didn’t waste time in getting steamy.
Off and threw the window, her blouse flew. I romantically reached for her skirt with my rabbit teeth to strip it off and accidentally bit the bead that went straight to my throat.
My eyes turned red, I was coughing endlessly, puke came through the nose and mouth. Vicky rushed for the water in my pot that was in one of the corners and forced it down my throat (she even had no idea why I was coughing because I couldn’t speak) but failed.
She grabbed her clothes and run out leaving me to fight for my life. Luckily, my uncle walked in and saw me chocking. He opened my mouth and pushed in something like a stick that made me cough harder and the bead jumped out my throat.
Since then, I have made it a point not to allow potential banana eaters to enter my bed with those beads.
Yours, Death Escapee In Romance,