Desola! or whatever your name is. You better hurry up with this dying process you’re going through because I will only update my blog when I am good and ready.
Really! The nerve of some people. Do you think I come to work to blog? No I am here to check my e-mails from potential partners on African Love Connection (I hear my profile “Sexy Caramel Mama” is very popular), browse the net, call my soon to be school teacher sister in Niger(ha ha! Next time you will not forsake me for a man) and criticise the dress sense of all those that walk into my office. So please …all of you …no one should harass me again. OK?!
Anyway, seeing as I'm here already... let me take pity upon you sad people and just share a few thoughts with you. Firstly I need to ask you all a question…Do I seem like a mean person to you guys? I know that slanderous bunny look alike sister in-law of mine has been spreading rumours that I have multiple personalities but we all know she just hating a sister for her hotness. It’s just that these days I’m not really the nicest of people.
After I got home from work, tied my wrapper village style round my neck, put on some beads for good measure and assumed the personality of Princess Nena “The beautiful one who most be obeyed” there was a knock on the door. I was obviously upset at being interrupted as I was just about to tuck into a plate of eba and spinach, (look…even hot, public school girls get ras cravings ok!). I opened the door to be confronted by my neighbour holding a cup. I eyed said cup and neighbour suspiciously. I had heard of such people who go from door to door asking for free goods in the spirit of neighbourly kindness. My spirit of Neighbourly kindness was away on vacation and I was not a happy princess Nena.
“Yes” I said
She looked me up and down like I was some kind of freak.
“Yes”! I said again.
“Oh sorry. I was just admiring your outfit. Are you off to a party”.
Peasant I thought. Does this look my ceremonial wrapper?
“No” I said.
“Is there something I can help you with”?
“Yes I was wondering if I could borrow some sugar and some milk”?
Sugar!!! Was this woman mad?? Did she not see the wrapper clinging to my hot Atkins created curves? Did I look like someone that ate sugar? And what did she mean by borrow? Was she planning on returning the cup of milk to me sometime in the near future with interest?
“I don’t have any sugar I’m afraid”.
“Oh that’s a shame, how about some milk then? I was just going to make a cup of tea and I noticed I’d run out. Where are you from? Your outfit looks very ethnic”.
Story, story …my eba is getting cold with all this gist. Lets focus on the job at hand please.
“I’m Nigerian. I’ll just see if I have some milk”.
Opening my refrigerator I noticed I did have some milk but only enough for me to eat my Snap, crackle and pop in the morning. I figured I might as well be nice and let her have it. Seeeeeee…I am a nice person.
“Here you go,” I said.
“Oh”! She said
“Haven’t you got any full fat milk”?
Once again the peasant has managed to annoy Princess Nena.
Did I look like someone who drank full fat milk (shut up ijebu chick…It was a rhetorical question and I don’t need any lip from you)?
“No that’s all I’ve got I’m afraid”.
“Oh well I guess it will have to do”.
Physco! Like she’s doing ME a favour by accepting the milk. At this stage I’ve lost all interest in being polite.
I took my milk out of her grasping little hands and said “No don’t be silly. If it’s not what you are used to then by all means try the lady downstairs”. And promptly shut my door.
I could hear the freeloader muttering obscenities outside. She’s lucky I didn’t have a royal executioner at hand to deal with her rude self. Anyway, I thought I handled myself quite well. Didn’t have to slap anyone silly to get my point across. Fine she was over 70 and a tad feeble but that’s no excuse for upsetting Princess Nena.
Hmmm but it did make me think though …Maybe I’m too hard on you guys. After all, all you want is to get to know me better and try to live your boring little lives through mine. So I hold my hands up. I have no excuse. I’ve been a bad, bad girl for not updating my blog. I deserve to be punished. I need to be taken over a big strong knee and spanked… preferably by Hassan. Who is Hassan you might all ask? Well Hassan is the love god who is at this very moment bent over my fax machine trying to fix it. Yes people …Mena is in love with the fax repair man. Would it be considered sexual harassment if I slightly pinched his toohsy on my way back to my desk?
What about Tyrese? You gasp in shock. Tyrese ko Tyresi ni. I am tired of having all my love letters returned by his security detail and I just think that restraining order asking me not contact him again was a tad overzealous. Really! You tell a guy you are going to cut off his little soldier if you find out those rumours about him and Vivica Fox are true and he suddenly gets all legal on your ass. Anyway I have decided I don’t want him anymore. Not because some judge in LA said so but because I’ve just decided I don’t need him anymore.
Right now I have men crawling out of the woodwork. Yep! Mena is regular light bulb these days just attracting men like moths to a flame. It’s like that old saying,”You spend ages waiting for a bus and 3 come along at once”. I guess telling you about them is one way to fill up my blog. But not today because Hassan has just asked if he can crawl under my desk to check the wiring for the fax and I really don’t think I can focus with him down there.