Come ye all, O brethren and kindred of mirth, enter into the dwelling of the queen, that we may laugh together at the small woman whom I shall call Small.
This weekend, I attended a birthday party but don’t be fooled. I wasn’t a guest. I was the waitress, cleaner, security guard, MC, and gossip minister. You know why? Because I don’t drink alcohol. So instead of dancing on tables, I was offering free labour to the queen.
Now guess how many gossips I gathered? Not one. Not two. But three full episodes! 😄 Clap for me. I’m officially the 2025/2026 International Gossip Winner 👑
We dig in…
So there I was, walking around picking empty bottles, serviettes, chicken bones, lost eyelashes — basically, anything that had lost its dignity on the ground. I cleaned tables, wiped toilets, took orders, and minded everybody’s business except my own.
Halloooooo! My radar picked something. Look slowly… that small table near the perimeter wall — yes, that one. Something sweet is cooking there. I can smell romance stew with a side of lies.
Let me approach slowly. I’ve switched on my spy mode. From my quick eye scan, the lady looks in her 20s, while the man has already renewed his driving license twice after 35.
I start picking bottles around them, pretending to scroll on my phone but you all know I’m here for the gossip.
That’s it! I knew it! My gossip spirit never lies!
Get ready! Steady! Listen!
The man is lying about his wife so he can lay the lady.
Man: You know why I love you? You’re so mature for your age, clean, outspoken, beautiful and above all, kind. (He kisses her forehead like he’s baptizing her with foolishness.)
Small: How many women have you told this? (She whispers, acting innocent.)
Man: Only you. You don’t know how much I love you. I love you more than my wife. (He kisses her hand and feeds her meat.)
Small: Really? Hope you’re not lying.
Man: Why should I lie to a beautiful lady like you? You deserve the best in life.
Meanwhile, I’m here pretending to wipe tables that are already clean. My ears are working overtime.
Man: Mama Njeri irritates me. She changed after giving birth to Njeri. Imagine she doesn’t bathe daily, neither does she do anything in the house. My maid is the one who runs my home. I’m not happy. (He clenches his fists like a man auditioning for pain.)
Small: That’s sad. I’m clean. I don’t need a maid. (She smiles proudly. I almost handed her a medal for hygiene.)
Man: That’s why I want you. I feel at peace with you. I feel like a man in your arms. (He says while feeding her more meat. Clearly, the lies come marinated.)
Small: I can’t let my man go through all that. My man is my responsibility. (She says while sipping wine like she’s signing a marriage certificate.)
Man: I love a mature woman like you. I want you forever.
I’m now making a fake call: “Hello? Bring more Harpic, sodas, and serviettes.” Because at this point, I’m covering a live soap opera.
Small: Why can’t you divorce her?
Man: I’m there for my children. Leaving children behind is complex. You won’t understand unless you have a family. But there’s nothing romantic between me and Mama Njeri. I can’t even share a bed with her. I love my guest room. I dislike that woman. If not for the children…
Small: I understand. It’s emotionally draining.
Man: We only talk about the kids. If not for them, I’d have left that house long ago. Mama Njeri is not the woman I married. When Njeri hits 18, I’ll rent her a house and I’ll leave. She’s only 8. Let her stay with both parents under one roof. For her growth, this is healthy.
I’m now cleaning the table next to them, pretending to call again, “Where’s that Harpic?!” Meanwhile, my ears are having a field day.
Man: I just want you to give me a daughter. I’ll take care of you both. Let’s make a family. I’ll divide equal time between my children. One week for our child, one week for Njeri.
Small: No problem, as long as you assure me you won’t leave.
Man: I’ll forever choose you over Mama Njeri. Who can compare Mama Njeri to you?
Small: Thank you. (She smiles shyly, like someone who has just won an award for being the future disappointment.)
They continue touching-touching, but I move away before I scream “CUT! Scene one done!”
Guys, I’m done! That’s it! What’s wrong with this girl? What makes her think she’s more special than Mama Njeri? What makes her think her child will be special than Njeri? What makes her think it’s true that Mama Njeri doesn’t bathe?
Let her continue like that. Let her believe she’s the one. Me, I’ll just keep cleaning the compound.
Si she thinks she’s better than Mama Njeri? Let her be. Time will teach her softly or loudly.
And that, my friends, is how I ended my night with zero alcohol but 100% premium tea.
End of Scene. Gossip delivered, verified, and certified by the International Gossip Winner 2025/2026. 👑