Happy New Year!
Sorry did you say something?
Oh it’s February and the New Year is over abi!
Do I look like I am interested in your view on how my world should work?
I’m doing you lot a favour by turning up at all.
This year was supposed to be Blog free.
The plan was to get a raise or win the lottery (with my work ethic, winning the lottery is slightly more realistic) and then I wouldn’t need to discuss my constant traumas with non-medically qualified members of the public any longer. I was going to get myself a real therapist. Someone personally related to Freud (no quacks for me) with fancy letters after their names. They would have a couch and ask me deep and meaningful questions about my childhood and my oh so sensitive na… Bunny go go! Are you laughing over there? You want me to come over there and slap your tail off abi? Nonsense! Yeah where was I? Oh yeah! We would discuss my sensitive nature. I was going to deal with all my emotional and mental issues and become a well-rounded, independent woman about town. I would acquire an air of mystery and sophistication and stop hanging around clubs that have names like Peckham Rendezvous, drinking Supermalt with Ijebu Chick. Opps…sorry. I forgot you told your hubby you were going to the park to look for bush meat. By the way, you do know its illegal to kill anything in any of our Majesty, Queen Elizabeth's (all bow, curtsey please) parks abi? I’m just warning you because the day the catch you with your bow and arrow under your bubu I don’t think they will buy your story that you use it for personal protection.
But what can I say. Its 2007 and I’m single (lets not even discuss the prat I was swapping germs with just before the New Year).
Still not earning enough to buy my own little country and make myself supreme ruler (I would call it the Federal Republic of Menapolis and I would make everyone wear fat suits in honour of their great ruler. The only way to get a visa into my country would be to do a little dance routine for moi).
Still surrounded by loony tunes at home and in my working life.
I’m still a Telly tubby.
I’m starting to suspect Tyrese swings for the boys because I don’t know how any sane man can resist my many attributes.
But worst of all is, I am once again stuck with you guys. The things I’ll do for free therapy.
So what’s happened so far this year Mena you all ask?
Well lets see…Oh did I tell you Hurry up and propose chick has finally been proposed to?
Despite the numerous anonymous letters sent to the groom telling him of her capacity to eat a whole cow under 10 minutes, fall asleep in the middle of a sentence and scatter her dead skin cells around like confetti, he still went ahead and asked the big question. It must be love. Either that or he can’t read. So till the wedding when she becomes Mrs. Market Boy she will henceforth be known as Engaged Chick. I am off to Niger in December to be bossed around by her and have my beautiful caramel complexion ruined by the blazing sun and mosquitoes. All of you try to keep this under wraps, as I don’t want my many Niger fans causing a riot at the airport on the day of my arrival. I am not sure what to get her as a wedding pressie but I think something personal and from the heart would be best. So I am currently working on a special dance/song routine for the reception. As soon as I find a way to get Customs to let me bring the 12 red bottomed baboons I’ll be using for the routine into the country, I’ll break the good news to her.
What else is going on???
Well I am about to embark on another crappy diet. No need Mena you all say. We love your voluptuous curves. Yeah that’s all well and good but I'm not sure my Manager is as loving of them. All my clothes are now so tight I spend every couple of minutes running to the loo to unhook my bra so I don't pass out from lack of oxygen. Something must be done. Not sure what yet but I'll start thinking about it right after I finish the cake in my fridge. Hey! Don't look at me like that. The Lord said waste not...
Moved out of the ghetto into the suburbs. It’s amazing. We have cool stuff like central heating. Sometimes I just switch it on and sit in front of the boiler watching the pilot light dance around in there. Who needs CSI when you've got that? Uhhhh and when you switch on the shower...don't tell anyone, but HOT WATER comes gushing out. My days of waking up at 5 in the morning to boil a kettle to have a bath are finally over. If I'd stayed in the Ghetto any longer my neighbours would have had me sectioned because I was planning to run out into the communal garden and have a shower whenever it rained just a get an extra hours sleep.
SE Chick has got a bun in the oven. I know! The filthy woman literally tied her hubby to the bed. The baby has already developed a healthy fear of me and refuses to move whenever I scream "Oi! Will you come on prostrate for your Aunty Mena" at his Mum's belly. Train them when they are young I say. By the time he's 18 months he'll be jumping off his high chair and prostrating whenever he hears me pressing the door bell.
Really not a lot has happened so far but I've still got 10 whole months left to get up to mischief, lose enough weight to make another person, acquire loads of dosh, nab a man and indulge in lots of activities without the fear of being struck by lighting and of course become the me that no longer requires you quacks.