Sweet Side Dish Snares Her Mother-in-Law for Mr.Lovestick Romeo

Let me start with this: I was clobbered senseless and nearly had my bones turned into soup stock — all thanks to a sweet side dish who tricked me into plowing her mother-in-law. But really, what an elder sees while squatting, a child won’t see even atop a mango tree. Kabutemba’s sons just couldn’t keep their noses out of their mama’s matters.

I honestly don’t get why sons turn into jealous watchdogs when their mothers find love. Parents are human too — warm-blooded and craving affection just like their grown offspring.

It all began mid-2018 with a random phone call from Kerren — one of my past horizontal collaborators. I hadn’t seen her in over three years. Last I heard, she was somewhere in Sembabule playing farmer's wife.

“Eeeh Kerren!” I teased, “You broke my heart. I was planning on locking you down, then bam — married!”

To this, she laughed and accused me of unseriousness. Then dropped a bomb: “Since I can’t serve you directly, how about my mother-in-law? You’d love her.”

Now, I brushed it off. I’m not in the business of chewing cargo past its shipping date — especially not after sampling a fifty-something just the night before. But Kerren insisted:
“She doesn’t look old. That woman has money, an ocean of ‘hydration,’ and towers that make mine look like termite hills.”

“Eh! Now you’re seducing me on her behalf?” I joked.

“She’s a pure Muhima,” she swore. “I’ve bathed with her. If she doesn’t have El-Niño down there, I’ll hang myself.”

It became a sales pitch:
“Chew her. We split the profit. She’s stingy with me but generous with her men. The last one built a mansion and bought a Benz off her. He just had weak batteries — but you, my Hyena, you’ve got a turbo skewer.”

And for that service, she demanded a one-million shilling commission if money started flowing.

She gave me the mother-in-law’s number — Kabutemba — and a backstory: sells cattle in the market, tall-ish, brown like roasted groundnuts. I was to pretend we met there and that I’d fallen in love.

So I dialed. “Hello, madam, we met at the market last month... you gave me your number...”

Kabutemba wasn’t having it:
“Young man, I don’t play with small boys. Delete my number and behave.”

Back in the compound, Kerren encouraged her to “test the waters.” She insisted Kabutemba was being too uptight for nothing.

Two days later, Kerren texted: She’s alone. Try now. I called.

“Madam, it’s me again — the lovesick Romeo,” I said.
She barked, “If you’re from this village, I’ll skin you alive.”

Eventually, she gave me a challenge: “Buy medicine for my cows. If you can’t, don’t call again.”

That was my entry fee. A small bottle goes for 6k–12k. So I went the extra mile:
I bought the meds, added Basmati rice, biscuits, and groceries, and sent them all to the taxi stage near her area.

Next day, she called:
“Romeo my friend, God bless you. These biscuits... wow! I'm hiding them in my bedroom before these children finish them.”

Kerren called later giggling, “You bewitched her! She’s hooked!”

Two weeks later, she invited me for a face-to-face in Ntusi. I countered, “Come to Kampala.” She came, and I showed her all four corners of the city and bedroom gymnastics.

She was tantalized. Called me a lion. From then, every two weeks, she made pilgrimages to the capital for servicing. Once, she came with 5 million shillings and handed it to me. I forwarded Kerren her cut.

One month, we booked into multiple hotels, chewing hourly. Then she invited me to her farm, sent me 500k for fuel. To the kids and friends, she introduced me as her “special friend.”

Kerren pretended she didn’t know me. Some of the children warmed up quickly — mostly the girls and younger boys. I even gifted them toys and used my charm. But her grown sons? They fumed like village pit latrines.

Kerren, being the sneak she is, kunsitamira’d (slid into my zone) every chance she got. When her mom left for a burial, I served her in a bush like a true predator.

Later, Kabutemba told me to stick around so the children would get used to me. So we drove back to the farm together.

But her sons had been drinking. That night, they stormed the house, mob-style. Despite her protests, they dragged me out. Kerren’s husband struck me with an enkoni (club), and others joined. My car was nearly set on fire until the LC1 chairman and police intervened.

I woke up in Masaka hospital, bruised and bandaged. Spent days healing... and also sampled two nurses on duty. But that’s a tale for another day.

Till next time,
I remain your favorite heartbreaker,
Mr.Lovestick Romeo 🐾