I don’t want sex with my morning coffee

So let me raise my hand and admit to being a fraud. I don’t own a mini skirt, and barring an act of God, probably never will. I have friends who’ve never seen my legs.

And yet my voice could be heard above the fray during the #MyDressMyChoice protest. But hey, just because I use my legs for walking and not for showing, doesn’t mean that everyone else has to be just as prudish. I’m old fashioned, sue me.

It has crossed my mind that maybe I’m just old. Either way, another thing that gets up my nose, is having to sit through a running commentary on all things sexual before lunch. When did radio presenters become sex therapists and marriage counsellors? And what qualifies them to dispense advice like water from a thousand fountains?

I don’t know about y’all, but I’d rather not have to sit through the ins and outs of penetration, protection and positions before I have my coffee.

They’ve come up with all manner of peculiar names for sex, in a limp attempt to give their discussions a veneer of respectability, but yeah, it’s not working.

Some FM stations are more brazen than others. I’ve heard some show hosts take calls and SMSes from listeners who for some odd reason, want on-air advice about the worrying state of their genitals and similar struggles that in my humble opinion, they should take to the Lord in prayer. Honestly, who wants to know that you have warts on your privates? And if you need to ask a radio presenter what they are then you really shouldn’t be having sex.

The whole thing is distasteful. But hey, this must be what it means to live in a middle-income, democracy. Suddenly, we all need to know that a young man in campus has been propositioned by his male lecturer, an older woman has been sleeping with her house girl, or that some macho man has married three sisters, and is eying the fourth. And all of this before 12.00PM. Obviously, the communications regulator has never heard of a watershed.

Given a choice though, I would much rather listen to stories about silly sexual escapades than sit through relationship advice from media personalities who are unqualified to tell anyone what to do with their love life. You might as well go down to the neighbourhood kiosk and have a session with your Mama Mboga. As a matter of fact, she probably has the better advice.

We act as if being on air somehow transforms these radio heads into self-help gurus. As if someone waves a magic wand at the studio door, sprinkles some fairy dust and declares them relationship experts. Come on, now. It’s no wonder we can’t differentiate public relations from actual development.

But worse still, are those people who listen to this kind of advice, follow it and then blame the source when it all goes downhill. How you can blame an on-air show and its host for ‘breaking your marriage’ is beyond me. At what point do your own actions become the responsibility of a person you have never met?

There is one particular morning show host who is often accused of leading women astray and running roughshod over holy matrimony. Hardly a day goes by without someone telling him that he is causing discord in the happy homes of peaceful Kenyans. What nonsense. If you break up your family based on what you hear on the radio, then you only have yourself to blame.

It’s simple, really. If you need medical advice, see a doctor. If you need to balance your books, find an accountant. If you have legal troubles, look for a lawyer. Need directions? Ask a boda boda guy, or your cabbie. It’s not rocket science. FM stations are platforms for a whole lot of things, not many of which are serious, so if you’re calling in to air your dirty laundry then you just became our entertainment. And yes, I know. I can change the channel. But how about folks just stop calling in.