The car made me do it.

Mena!

Shhhh...Must you whisper so loudly?

Sorry.

Sorry for yourself gbeboruns. What part of my mother must not find me did you not get? Please don’t use your need for gist to spoil my own.

We’ve said sorry now.  O ya tell us what happened.

Well, after deciding on my strategy, I put my plan into motion. I lured my mama into a false sense of security by snuggling up with her and having a Walton family moment.  I pretended to enjoy Tinsel for 15 minutes and then I told her I was going to go for a brisk stroll round the block and check on the car to make sure it was all ready to go.

And the idea of you strolling briskly anywhere didn't get her alarm bells ringing? 

Unlike you lot, she trusts me...Most of the time anyway.

My mother beamed at me and said... 

“I’m so proud of you Mena. You’ve really grown up and I’m glad you’ve decided to take this situation in your stride. I love you darling.”

Huh? Did she just say the “L” word?

Ay Caramba! We’re going to hell!!!!

Shut it Brain! No ones going to hell. Well some people are but we aren’t. God understands we need to do this.

Really? Kind of missed the whole you can commit arson for personal gain part of the Bible. Anyway she said she loved us. She never says that. I want to be loved Mena. Let’s succumb to the love and drive the jalopy.

Hmmm…I did feel all warm and fuzzy inside but then I thought about the shame of having to drive that disaster to work on Monday and I hardened my heart.

I nipped outside and took a sneaky look around to make sure no one was watching. I then  proceeded to spritz a generous amount of perfume on the worn foot mat, surrounding upholstery and attempted to start the car.

3 attempts later; all sweaty and out of breath, the bloody thing finally splutters into life. At this point I lit a match and dropped it on the foot mat and waited for the car to build up some smoke and maybe a few tiny flames. The plan was to run screaming into the house to tell my mother that as I tried to start the car, there was an almighty spark from the wiring dangling from beneath the steering wheel and I barely made it out of the car with my toes intact. 

We would grab the fire extinguisher from the kitchen and  put out the mini flames. She would realize she had almost lost her baby in a fiery ball of flames and she would immediately have the car scrapped and buy me my jeep. Ahhh yes! I’m a genius.

THAT’S YOUR INGENIOUS PLAN?! My five year old could come up with a better plan than that.

Well I’m not interested in what your snotty nosed, MENSA wannabe, 5 year old can do. So stop interrupting.

My lips are sealed. I can’t wait to see how this plan of your pans out.

Anyway, the damn foot mat just refused to catch fire. So I ended up pouring almost half a bottle of my Black Orchid by Tom Ford on it (Well worth the waste if my plan succeeds) but nada.

It’s a sign from God Mena. Let’s just forget about this and go inside and eat some Blue Bunny. You know how much you love Blue Bunny? We’ll slip into something comfortable, turn down the lights, turn the dial to Smooth FM and just have our naughty way with that tub of ice-cream.

Be quiet you food tramp. I’m trying to save us from a future of ridicule here. I don’t want to hear one more peep out of you. 

I struck another match…

I don’t think you should …

BRAIN! BE QUIET!

I throw it into the car  and I was just about to give up and go get some kerosene when there was an almighty bang and a ginormous fire ball comes out the car door, singeing off my eyebrows and knocking me to the ground.  Is that burning weave I smell?

Naturally the noise and flames has everyone, including my mother, running outdoors,  only to find me lying on the ground by the burning car with melted weave running down my face like tar and a box of matches in my hand. 

Hmmm...This does not bode well for my future. Brain, maybe if we lay really, really still no one will notice how suspicious this all looks.

Brain?! Are you still there? Oh my God! Maybe the explosion has jarred something loose up there.  I probably have only 70% brain function or something left.

I doubt you had that much to begin with you twisted fire starter.

Speak to me Brain! SPEAK TO MEEEEEEE!!!

Now you want to talk to me huh? When the sh.. hits the fan then you want to hear from good ol'Brain. Well kiss my grey matter. You want to know what do? Just jump in the burning car and end it all  now. Believe me, it would be the humane thing to do because I’ve never seen your mother turn red before and is that a vein throbbing in her forehead?  Yep! Ending your life in a fiery furnace would be a piece of cake compared to whatever she has in store for you. And for the record, I just want to say; a woman like you should not be allowed to roam the streets and thank God you didn’t have a chance to reproduce and populate the earth with more stupid people like yourself.

Ok, you can insult me all you want later. Right now we need to figure out a way to get out of here before mother loses interest in saving her Prado and the house.

So whilst everyone was focused on dousing out the flames (which weren’t as bad as the initial fire ball led us to believe), I snuck into my fathers study and I’ve been hiding under his desk ever since. I could hear my mother calling my name interjected with words and statements that the blogger people would never let me print.

I found some kola nut and a bottle of Peach schnapps in his desk drawer. I figure if I nibble on it sparingly I might be able to survive under here for a week, only leaving the safety of the desk for bathroom emergencies. Either that or I’ll get so drunk on the Peach Schnapps I wont even care if she finds me and drags me naked behind her Prado, through the streets of Lagos. 

When bad cars make good people do bad things.

Psssttt…Yes you! Come here.

Mena? Is that you?

No! Its Dolly Parton after a disastrous tanning booth accident. What the hell do you think Dumbo? You are reading Mena’s Blog aren’t you?

No need to be rude. Maybe if you weren’t hiding under a desk in the dark we might be able to recognize you. Speaking of which…Why are you under a desk in the dark?

Be quiet. You ask too many questions. Is there a law that says one is not allowed to chillax under ones desk in the middle of the night with the lights off? I didn't think so.  Look stop slowing me down, this is going to be a very quick blog update.  I’m in hiding from my mother and I’m scared that the sound of my frantic typing might be heard by her bat like ears and reveal my secret location in Daddy’s study.

What have you done now Mena?

Me???!!! Why does everyone always think stuff is my fault? I’m the injured party in this fiasco.

Really?! So how come you’re the one in hiding.

Errr…Cause my mothers crazy.  You ever tried dealing with crazy? I know, why don’t you pop down to Akin Adesola Street and try to reason with the loony by the traffic lights about the fact that he’s causing an obstruction that could result in an accident and see if you come back with any ears. In other words, you can’t reason with crazy people. So it’s easier for me to stay in hiding until this whole thing blows over.

I’m sure you’re all wondering what happened?  How did your great heroine,Mena,come to be in this position?

Well, after I was introduced to the metal harbinger of death, I tried to reason with my mother…

How could she expect me??!! A newbie driver, in the death race arena that is Lagos, to survive the aggression of other motorists in that flimsy excuse of a car?

That didn’t work.

What would her friends think if they saw me in that tin can? She had to consider the family rep.

She just yawned, scratched her bum and continued watching  Real Housewives of Orange County.

The only men I would attract were mechanics looking to chat me up so they could get to the rare brake pads or whatever it is my antique automobile had lurking under its hood.

She paused momentarily at that and I could practically hear the metal wheels in her brain turning, trying to figure out if she was actually punishing me or herself by letting the eligible bachelors of Lagos see me in anything but the best.

Brain! I think we might be unto a winner here.

Don’t hold your breath missy. It’s your mother we’re talking about here. Remember when she chained herself to the gate on her birthday so your Dad couldn’t leave the house to go to  his cousins funeral until she got her birthday present? She was there for 2 days, caught malaria and even had lizards nesting in her hair but that woman stood her ground. So I doubt your pathetic attempts at manipulation are going to work on her.

Thanks for the support Brain!

Eventually her mental cogs ground to a halt.  She turned to look at me and said...

“You can only use the husband card so many times young lady. Anyway I have accepted the fact that I’m stuck with you. We all have our cross to bear. It will be nice to have one of my daughters living at home so when your Dad and I get too old to fend for ourselves you’ll be there to change the bed pans and stuff. So don’t stress yourself with the hubby thing anymore. There’s no GREAT shame in being a spinster. There’s a little but not a lot these days. Now please leave me alone I’m watching my show.”

Brain! Story don get k leg. Can she truly not be bothered by my lack of a potential hubby anymore? Can my one major bargaining chip be gone? We need to head to our room and regroup.

2 hours later…

Think Brain! Think! There has to be a way to get out of this.

Look I’m tired of thinking. I hurt and when are you going to eat some food dammit?! I need fuel to function. I’ve been sending signals to your tummy all afternoon or what did you think all the noises coming from down there were?

Gas?

That’s just charming. And what finishing school did you graduate from missy?

Look we don’t have time for bickering. We need to work together on this. Now focus.

By Samanja's  moustache! I think I’ve got it.

Err…No! That’s not it. Lets keep thinking.

It is Brain. If there isn’t a car to drive she can’t make me drive it now can she? So we just need to get rid of the car.

I promise you, this isn’t a good plan. Let’s do some more begging or buy her some rhinestone lace or something.

It will work. You’ll see. Stop being such a chicken and let’s get to work.

So I went downstairs to my mum, knelt down in front of her and apologized for being such a spoilt brat and not appreciating the gift she had given me. I threw my head into her lap and forced myself to cry (It’s actually quiet easy. I make myself imagine what my life would have been like with the tribal marks my Dad wanted to give me when I was born and the tears of relief come flooding down). Yep! I gave the performance of my life. By the end of it my mother was stroking my hair and singing my oriki to me. Telling me we all had to start  from somewhere and I should be patient, that my time would come in all things.

I actually felt pretty bad by the end of it.

But apparently not bad enough to call off your plan we see.

Wo’eva. Just because she was being mother-like for a change doesn’t mean she’s a reformed character. She backed me into a corner and I just did what I had to.

Devil daughter. God forgive you.

Story. That evening, operation Bye-bye Banger(BBB) commenced.

Back with a banger

Warrup Peeps?!!

Miss me?

No?

The feeling is mutual losers.

Brain and I have just returned from a chillaxing holiday. Hence the lack of blog updates. Well that and the fact that the letter "A" has stopped working on my ibi ise laptop and so no one understands a word I write anymore. Shame you peasants have been stuck here in 100 degree heat. It’s a pity but you all can’t be bigz girlzs like moi. Abi Brain? Give me a mental high five jo.

Really? Big girl?  No be you we see struggling to get into your economy seat to London the other day?  London na holiday? Shio.  And dey no tell you say Orobo no dey fly economy? Instead of you to have saved all that money you spent at Ice-cream Factory on a business class ticket; you were now harassing other lepa customers, trying to squeeze into your seat. Na wa for some people. Creamy goodness no go kill you.

Ahhhh!!!! I told you not to buy an economy ticket. See???!!!! We were seen and now everyone knows we aren’t rolling in wonga. Why must you always embarrass us?

Shut it Brain! It was either fly economy and shop like crazy or fly business class and buy our new Autumn/Winter wardrobe at Liverpool Street market. So excuse me for thinking about our fashion credentials. Ungrateful organ.

As for you. Me? Orobo abi???!!!!!!  See how people like to start with me?  You also want to bring my bigz girlz status into disrepute by announcing my budget travel itinerary to the world huh? As my driver likes to say when provoked “Thunder fire your left testicle!!!”

En! You dey curse me?

You never see curse. You better remove the one functioning member you have left from my blog before I send lightening to the other one. Nonsense. 

I don’t know why people can't mind their own business. So what if I flew economy? No be the same place the plane dey go? Or do they make the economy passengers parachute into the Atlantic ocean and use their luggage as life rafts to the UK? 

I beg! You can all say what you want but 3 suitcases of baffs says different, so kiss my heiny. The only thing left to complete my new wardrobe is the ultimate accessory…

A man?

Places to go?

Real Auntie Funmi hair?

A lepa body?

You’re still here? You’re obviously allergic to lampashing. No probs! Kiss your remaining love ball goodbye.

Wait now! Why are you running? Sex is overrated.

Joker! As I was saying, the one thing missing from my life is a car.

With my new baffs it would just be wrong for me to be red cabbing and hopping lifts all over the place.

My new Marc Jacobs Hobo deserves to ride in style and so I bit the bullet, sat my parents down and demanded my own car (Insisted on a jeep in a metallic olive green to complement my skin tone) or else I would be forced to take drastic measures.

Yeeeeaaahhhh well! I haven’t been allowed back into the house since and I am currently sleeping on Peanut Boys sofa. His Mrs. isn’t too thrilled by this and has taken to vacuuming the sofa whilst I’m still asleep on it. But hey! The jokes on her cause what she doesn’t know is I actually rather enjoy the sucking sensation good ol'Dyson Handy Vac provides.

You’re sick!

Takes one to know one pervo.

Anyway. After numerous pleading text messages, my mother has finally agreed to let me come back home. So I walk through the gates on my first day back and the first thing I see is my mother and Tony standing next to her 19gogoro Prelude Honda Accord. I have a bad feeling about this. I hadn’t seen that car since I was about 5. I thought it had been scrapped and its bits used to make chicken cages. Lord! Where the hell did she dig it up from and more importantly what is it doing here?

"Good Mena you’re home. Come and look at your new car." says my mother trying very hard not to laugh.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Ye! My stomach o. Bigz Girlz cruising in her 2 door, 1979 Prelude.  You sure say your Marc Jacobs no go catch fire if it enters this your new car?

Waka!

"Mummmmmmmmmyyyyyyy!!!! What is this? This isn’t a new car. This rust bucket is older than me." I moan. Looking in despair at the heap in front of me.

"You are obviously not ready to come back home. Tony! Escort her out of the gate."

"No! Wait! I’m listening." I say in a resigned tone.

 As much as I've enjoyed the time spent with my new Dyson lover on my brother’s sofa, I miss my room and all my stuff. If it means allowing my mother to deceive herself that I will drive this death trap to get back in, so be it.

"Oya get in the car and let Tony show you how it works." says mummy dearest shoving me towards the rust covered eyesore. 

It looks like its grinning at me and its freaking' me out. Why did I ever read Christine by Stephen King?

I open the passenger door and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of camphor and damp.

"Mummyyyyyyyy!!!!"

"Get in the car my friend. You just want to be posing on my husband’s money. He hasn't upgraded my Prado and you want jeep? Over my dead body."

Ohhhhhhh!!!! What kind of life is this? Someone would think we were poor the way this woman makes me suffer. Sebi I have relinquished my Porsche Cayenne dreams. The least they could do was get me a Picanto or something.

You! Picanto ke????!!!! You wicked o. You wan kill the car? Na everyday you go dey change suspension.

I’m too traumatized to deal with you now.

I get in the car and the seat immediately reclines of it's own accord and I’m left staring at the roof, where someone has written “One way to heaven!” next to a lovely illustration of skulls and crossbones.

Oh my God! I’m going to die in this recycled tin can and I’m not even sure I’m going to heaven. Boo Hoooooooooo!!!

"Mummmmmyyyyyyyyy!!!!!"

"That can easily be fixed. You’ve put on weight on your trip and it will be a good incentive for you to diet. You don't want the seat reclining when you’re driving now do you?" She says trying hard not to laugh.

Insult upon injury. She's leading me to an early grave and she thinks its funny? I can't be her real daughter. I must be the child of her love rival who died in a tragic accident and my father forced her to adopt me.

Tony returns my seat to the upright position and asks me to pay attention.

"Ok Madam! This motor old so na delicate touch you go dey use."

Wo’eva

"Why does it have 3 pedals? and why is the gear stick funny? What's with all the numbers?" I ask

"Madam?"

"The 3rd pedal on your left? What's that for?" 

Gee! Am I speaking Mandarin?

"That one na clutch now."

"What’s a clutch? I'm used to just 2 pedals. The accelerator and the break."

My mother starts giggling hysterically..."Original driver!" 

I ignore her. I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of getting upset.

"Ah! That one na automatic. This car na manual." says Tony, trying very hard not to laugh as well.

Manual? As in manual labor? 

"Mummy! I can't drive a manual!"

"By Gods grace you will learn or you will go back to your red cabs because Tony is no longer allowed to take you anywhere. Now pay attention"

Tony clears his throat and begins...

"To start the car you first need to open the bonnet…"

Huh? What the hell is he talking about?

"...turn the key and then…"

Tony then proceeded to jump out of the car, lift the hood and whack the engine with a metal bar tied to the bonnet. Slam the lid shut, jump back in the car and pump the clutch furiously before the old banger spluttered into life.

"You see how I do am small madam? E easy or make I show you again? You just have to be fast, fast. Maybe you no go dey wear those your koskos shoes when you dey start the car so you fit run well, well."

You’ve got be kidding me.

I look at him, turn to look at my mother and started to cry.

RIP Hot Babe 2

I should punish you all by not telling you what happened to me but I need sympathy.


I am currently tethered to the bed.

Despite my reassurances to her that the injury will fade with time and TLC, my mother has decided that the only way to resolve the issue of my facial scarring is to give me an all over body toning treatment to ensure that my skin tone is even all over.

Considering that one half of my face is currently a bright, pinky red colour, you can imagine my panic and the need for her to have me shackled to the bed so I can’t escape. I’m sure you’re still wondering how I got myself into this predicament?

Well…After delving into murky waters by agreeing to venture out in public with Ladies Man, my antibiotics ladled brain promptly forgot about the whole thing and I decided to have my family over for dinner instead because I love them and enjoy spending time with them.

You are tied to the bed in your undies and at the mercy of your very upset mother. You better tell the truth and the let devil be ashamed. So you at least have a chance of making it into heaven if you don't survive your experimental toning session.

FINE!!! I only invited them round to put smarmy Market Boy in his place. His razz wifey had us over for dinner the weekend before and surprisingly none of us died of food poisoning. The food was rather nice (No way in hell I’m telling her that), the company was tolerable and  there was copious amounts of alcohol so their boring conversations didn’t matter so much after the third or so glass of vodka. Anyway he’s been feeling rather smug with himself since then. You would think he flew in Gordon Ramsey to cook the food the way he’s been going on.

My wife’s so cool! My wife’s so awesome! My wife can crack walnuts between her legs (Well he didn’t actually verbalize that but I know he’s thinking it). Yadda! Yadda! Yadda! Put a sock in it loser. Nobody cares.

I was just going to ignore him but he called me …

"Hey Sis!"


"What do you want? I’m busy."


"You mean you’re forming busy because you’ve been changing your BB status every 15 minutes. Hardly the actions of someone who is busy."

See why I don’t send his ITK behind?

"Whatever! Who died and made you BB Gestapo? Did you want something?"


"Yeah actually. I was just thinking about your manless status the other day and I thought I'd call to give you some moral encouragement."

I just know this isn’t going to go well for one of us.

"Thanks bro but I’m cool. Don’t need any back patting at the moment."


"It’s not back patting. It’s more a critical analysis of where you might be going wrong."

Now everyone’s an expert. I know where I’m going wrong mate. They find out I’m related to you and they all make a run for it.

"That’s very thoughtful of you but like I said…buuuuuuuuuuusssyyy."


"See that’s part of your problem. Your snide, dismissive attitude."

Ah! See me see trouble. Is today international "Your Own No Go Better" day or why is everybody trying to bring me down? It’s only because my ashawo sister claims to love him that I haven’t shown this one my ninja assassin side. Crazy man.

"I beg your pardon?"


"You’re too hostile. You need to relax, let your hair down, develop some girly qualities and oh learn to cook like my Buttercup."

Emi?

Is it that paki, eat rice everyday, went to FGC razzo he’s referring to as Buttercup? Can he possibly be comparing my ethereal self to her? Na lie.

"I am relaxed, I have several girly qualities and I can cook way better than your wife."


"I doubt that. As I was sa..."


"You want to put your money where your mouth is loser? I can wipe the floor with your wife any day."

"Gasp! You dare besmirch my wife's cooking?"


"Your oyinbo too much. Bring money and let me show you what real cooking is."

By the way, I've been meaning to mention your growing local vocab. So not on sweetie. Guys don't dig that."

"Kiss my bum bum."

So 5 minutes later it was decided. I would host my own dinner party and the rest of the family would decide whose meal they liked better.

So that Saturday I was up by 5am doing unspeakable things to a beef fillet and other exotic ingredients. I decided to have a Spanish Tapas night to show Market Boys jollof rice damaged taste buds what real cooking was. I had 10 dishes to prepare and I was mega busy. So you can imagine how annoyed I was when I got a call on the intercom saying there was someone looking for me at the gate.

I stomp outside in my bubu, my face covered in flour from battering my squid and lo and behold, I find Ladies Man waiting for me.

OH … MY…GOD! BRAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh yeah! I was going to remind you about that

You were going to? When exactly were you going to you useless excuse for an organ?

Well, OK... my bad. Totally forgot. Hehehehe... But really you have to see the funny side.

Do you see me laughing? What am I supposed to do now?

Ladies Man is taking in my smelly (Haven’t had a shower yet. Usually smell like a spring meadow, I do) and disheveled state and probably wondering what he’s let himself in for.

"Hi!"  I said trying to decide how to blag my way out of this mess.

"Hello! I thought we agreed that I would pick you up by 12pm?"

Pick me up? I look around and I don’t see no car. Was he going to carry me on his back or what? Thank God I forgot sef.

"I’m soooo sorry. I thought that was next week?"


"No, I said this Saturday."


"Really? Oh gee! I’m terribly sorry. It must have been the drugs. I’ve just been so out of it lately."


"It’s all right. I’ll wait for you to get ready. I’ll call my friend to keep some seats for us."

Ohhhhhhhhhh!!!! What’s wrong with this die hard now? I feel bad enough as it is. It seemed like a bit of harmless fun when I was messing about and agreed to go with him. But now that he’s actually standing in front of me, looking all eager, I feel like an evil low life. I will just have to break it to him gently that I ain't going nowhere with him.

5 minutes later after lying my ass off about no running water, so couldn’t have a bath etc, I watched Ladies Man’s backside disappear off into the sunset on an okada. Once again…Thank God I forgot or that would have been me and him riding off on the okada. I could have sworn I saw him snapping his fingers in my general direction - The universal symbol for “I will show you”, but it was probably just my imagination.

Imagination my beautiful black booty! The boy seped on me! If he can't have me he dosen't want anyone else to. You can all say what you want but nothing will convince me that he wasn't responsible for what  happened next.

After he leaves, I head back to the kitchen, drop a piece of battered squid in some cooking oil and it literally explodes in my face. I'm talking squid everywhere explosion. My face is on fire! I dunk my head in cold water. Rub my face with ice but nothing works. By the time my guests arrived for dinner one half of my face was already a weeping blister.

You would think my useless family would be sympathetic but no, they spend the entire evening laughing and Market Boy is calling me Scarface by the time they head off home.

As I'm trying to free myself from my mothers complicated knot system, I’m thinking of all the ways I can get my own back on Ladies Man and Market Boy. I wonder how much Area boys charge to break a couple of vital bones?

My door opens and in walks my mother dressed like a mad scientist in an apron, rain boots, hair net, surgical mask and gloves. Closely followed by Inspector Lamidi pushing in an industrial size keg of  Fair & White.

What the….? She can't possibly be serious.

Somebody, save me please!!!!!!!!!!!

RIP Hot Babe

Eeeeeeeeeekkkkk!!!! Run Mena! There’s a monster in the mirror.


Shut up jo. That’s us Brain. We’re the monster.

Boo Hoo! My beautiful face.

 It’s not possible. Hey! Stop crying and listen…Ko possible. I had a deal with the guy upstairs not to be inserted into any ugly people. By accepting me as your brain you were under strict obligations to keep yourself hot at all times or I would be forced to turn you into a vegetable. You put on weight; I did nothing because your face was still fine. You went through a period of channeling Lil’Kim as your fashion inspiration; I did nothing because…your face was still fine. I even allowed you to continue to lead a normal life after subjecting me to months without manicures and silky human hair extensions because of our fine facial features but seeing as you have allowed your one saving grace to be desecrated, I give you 1 hour to put your affairs in order because today is the day we will see who really runs this body.

Sharrup! You talk too much for a muscle mass. It’s always about you. What about me? I’m the one who has to face leaving the house like this. I’m never going to meet a man now. It was hard enough when I was hot but now that I’m disfigured…Boooooooooooooo Hooooooooooo. E don finish o!

Er... what’s going on here?

Oh look what the cat dragged in Brain? Crappie fans.

Na wa for you people o! How many days ago did I say I was going to go out with Ladies Man?

About a week ago

and when was the last time I posted a blog?

About a week ago

And none of you thought that was a tad strange? That something might be wrong?

Not particularly. You are rather self absorbed and tend to forget you have an obligation to your long standing fans. Frankly I think I speak for the rest of your reading public when I say we don’t feel appreciated Mena.

Ennnnnn…Brain! Are you hearing what I am hearing?

I hear am o. I think someone does not know in whose presence they stand.

I think not.

What mode should I switch to in order to enable you kick the nincompoops behind verbally. Should we do local chick, ghetto chick or I went to public school and I know big words chick.

This one is not like the usual complainants Brain. Seems to understand English. I think we should fight fire with fire and go for the latter.

Righty ho! Public school girl it is. I hope I remember how to switch it on. It’s been a while seeing as we don’t get to use it much with the razzo’s we are forced to relate with on a regular basis. Switching in 3…Oh, by the way don’t think I’ve forgiven you. You have 50 minutes of normal brain functions left. After that I suggest you embrace the joys of not being able to blink and you might need to invest in some big girl nappies. OK continuing countdown… 2,

BANG! BANG!

"Mena open this door at once. Open the door and let me see you. Inspector Lamidi says you have been involved in a horrible disfiguring accident. I rushed straight here from The Wives of Big Men club luncheon when I heard. The sooner we sneak you out of the country so you don't disgrace the family with your mangled features the better. Oya open the door."

Damn it! God save you that my mother arrived when she did because I had a bevy of soul crushing insults planned for you.

Who send that gbeborun Lamidi message? I was hoping to have covered up the worst of it with a bucket of liquid make up before she returned from her jobless women’s meeting. Abi what do you call a meeting dedicated to comparing their husbands PRADO models? She is currently not cooking for my father because he refuses to upgrade, spoiling her chances of reelection as Chief Iwayo Olowo next year.

"Mena!!!!"

"I’m coming mummy."


This is going to be painful.  I take a deep breath and open the door for my mother.

"Hello Mum! You shouldn’t have rushed over. It’s just a scratch."  I say plastering the most carefree smile I can muster on my face.

My mother takes one look at me and as if in slow motion slowly crumples to the ground.

Mena! I think you finally did it. You have finally killed your mama. You will henceforth be known as Mena the murderer. They go send you to Kirikiri, where you will have to wash other women’s knickers with non -foaming bar soap. You will beg me to turn you into a vegetable then.


"Oh my God! Mummy! Wake up please."

I shake her no response. I check her pulse and thank God she’s still got one. She’s just fainted. I rush to the bathroom, get some water and sprinkle some on her face.

No response.

Tap her face gently

No response.

Then I decide to try an old trick my dad says he uses when she snores. My father says she can smell money a mile off regardless of how out of it she is. Let’s see if it’s true. I open her purse and waft a couple of thousand naira notes under her nose.

I detect movement. Na wa for this woman and money. She stirs and starts to mutter

"Ummm…my money. Who’s stealing my money? God punish all you thieves. you will not see anything to buy in the market with my money."

"Mummy open your eyes it’s me. No one is stealing your money."

She slowly opens her eyes, looks at me and sits up with amazing speed for someone who was lying comatose seconds ago and starts to whack me with her handbag.

"You will not kill me for my husband you hear?" Whack!

"You will not kill me." Whack!


"Owww!!! Mummy!! Stop hitting me."

 I’m up and running round the room but the sprightly old witch is right behind me whacking away.

"I will take out any child of mine that decides they want to cause me problems in this world. And I will not allow any child to live in my husband's house after their allotted time. You my dear have passed your time. I see what you are planning. You think by turning yourself into Quasimodo you will escape marrying and leaving this house? Over my dead body."

By now the scene is something from the Benny Hill show with me and my mother running round in circles and her handbag thwacking me at every opportunity.

I hate you Brain. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t made me agree to go out with Ladies Man, none of this would be happening.

Like I make the decision round here? And if I remember correctly it was more Market Boys fault than mine. Move your head dimwit you're killing me here.

Market Boy! The thorn in my sexy side. I will make you pay.

Ok! I know I’m just an annoying fan but what the hell is going on here? What about Ladies Man? What happened to your face and what does Market boy have to do with anything? Answers Mena! Answers! And don’t you dare leave us with another stupid cliff hanger.

Enn…U dare me? Brain they are daring me.

Are you talking to me? I’m not involving myself in your wahala again. If you like don’t komot your head for road, When your mother has killed all my component little grey cells maybe you will learn your lesson.

I’ll take that as a “How dare they dare us?” from you and you all know what that means…

My body is at work but mind is...

Miles away on a beach on the Virgin Islands with Tyrese rubbing suntan lotion on places where the sun don’t shine. I’m exhausted and still a tad ill, so really shouldn’t be here. But it’s either work or stay at home and let my mother wreak her usual havoc in my life. The woman doesn’t understand “No! I’m not interested and I’d rather die than do that”. Her response to the latter being

“At least if you die, I can have a big party and wear the lace you have denied me during your lifetime”.

That’s my mum! Always making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. So after the 2nd consecutive day of trying to get me to do lunch or dinner with my equally uninterested make believe cousin, I dragged my diseased body out of bed and scurried to work. I figured a day in the company of Bad Weave and the other office losers had got be better than having someone put make up on you whilst you’re asleep and invite random men over for a sneak preview of what they might be getting if they cough up enough in the bride price department (Haven’t caught her doing it but I do know I didn’t go to sleep looking like the next poster girl for MAC cosmetics).

I sit at my desk and I can’t even be bothered to pretend I’m working. My browser is opened to Bella Niaja and I’m popping antibiotics like candy, whilst wondering why all the girls look like clones of each other. Can someone please make it illegal for more than 5 women with Brazilian hair to be in the same place at the same time? Every event is like a Stepford wife convention for crying out loud.

People with shuku and patewo hairstyles are starting to look exotic and exciting to me. I shall write to our dear governor, Fashola, and ask him to make it law that every woman has to have her natural hair on display for at least 6 months of the year. Even me I don tire! Upon all my “I want to be a bigz girl” wahala, the constant hair flicking is starting to give me neck strain. And I swear I heard chirping noises coming from my last Amy Winehouse inspired bouffant weave.

Yes siree! I have hooked myself up with some afro kinky twists. My mother says I look like crazed Rastafarian midget and has offered to pay for me to get my hair redone, but I ain't budging. No long flowing locks for a while. I am embracing my afrocentric side and if you all talk too much I shall adopt the bubu and thong sandals as my key articles of clothing for the rest of the year. It is time to respect the cultures of my motherland and shun the artificial glamour of designer brands and sewn in hair…I am African! Africans Awoo!

Joker! I don’t know who you are trying to deceive. Are you trying to tell me that this sudden interest in your motherland has nothing to do with that “Africa! My Africa” bobo whose trousers you’re trying to get into?

Well I never!!!! I don’t know what you’re talking about. A woman shows some interest in her culture and gets accused of all sorts. I don’t know why I bother.

You better not bother because I ain’t letting you marry any vegetarian, Jesus sandal wearing hippy you met handing out “Nubian sisters be free” leaflets at the Palms. We eat suya and wear a fashionable mix of LDA & Topshop ok? And I ain’t letting any man get in the way of that. So if you want to embrace a life of Kente cloth danshiki’s and beans, please have a lobotomy and leave me in peace.

But he’s deep Brain. He stands for something. Don’t you want to stand for something too?

Wearing a suit made entirely out of Ankara and Bata inspired sandals, doesn’t make you deep. It simply means you are a style challenged freak. You’re only interested because he’s hot and he called you “His beautiful Nubian princess”

Hehehe… “His beautiful Nubian princess”

Get a hold of yourself woman. He said that to every girl that walked past. You have to stop falling for everything in trousers that looks like Kojak.

I do not! I haven’t fallen for him. I am simply helping him spread the gospel of natural beauty and utilizing our God given resources. So please leave me alone and stop trying to pour sand in my garri. Now can we please think about something else because today is a man free day. Don’t have the energy for opposite sex thoughts.

Where is everybody today anyway? Bad Weave is apparently on leave. Boli Lover is in Ghana, Rat Boy is off to see a client with 6 Pack Guy and damn! Ladies Man is making his way over to my desk. I immediately start coughing really loudly in the hope that the fear of catching my germs will guide his steps away from me  but the man obviously has no fear of anything viral because he keeps coming.

Polyester makes contact with fake mahogany as he plants his “No longer attractive to me” behind on my desk.


“Hello! How are you feeling?”


How do you think genius? I look like death warmed over. Even the generous helping of beauty flash balm I applied doesn’t seem to be helping me much today. I decide not to answer him. Instead I perform a nice coughing medley and hope he will take this as a hint to bugger off from my personal space. Damn! Still not budging. I guess I’m gonna have to talk to him.


“Much better thanks.”



“That’s good. You look better.”


Liar, Liar, pants on fire.


“Look I was wondering what you were doing on Saturday?”


Hmm…How are my plans any concern of yours you local Casanova? I beg not in the mood for rejecting lame chat up lines today. Everybody should just respect themselves.

Noticing that I’m taking my time to respond. Ladies Man hurriedly carries on.


“There is a concert at my church on Saturday and I thought you might like to come.”


Yeah right! And the 2011 elections will be fair and produce a non-corrupt individual to rule our great country.


Not bloody likely!


Why is this boy always trying me? He thinks he’s smart trying to wangle a date with me using church. I beg don’t try and play a player. I caught at least two of my boyfriends with that line. Invite them to church to display my “Praying Wife” qualities. Then nip to the loo at some point during the service, to slip some unscrupulous congregation member 50 bucks to corner him and have a revelation that I am his future wife and that he must treat me like a queen or the wrath of the Lord will be upon him. Cruel, I know but a girls got to do whatever it takes. The poor sucker ends up dating me for months. Too scared to break up with me and too scared to marry me because he’s thinking “Lord this isn’t what I asked for in a wife now”.

Menaaa!!! He’s just being friendly. Nothing wrong with inviting you to a church social now is there? You might actually enjoy yourself and who knows…Ladies Man might actually not be so bad.

Brain! Are you alright? Wash your grey cells out with soap for thinking such yucky thoughts. Not so bad indeed! I am highly disappointed in you. Do you not watch TV? If I am stupid enough to follow this boy to his so called “Church Social” I know I will wake up the next day in some smelly face me, I face you bachelor pad with no clothes on, after being doused in love potion masquerading as holy water

Come on! Say yes. I'm bored and your life has truly sucked lately. Go on I dare you!

U dey dare me?

Hmm...Mena never backs down from a dare.

I give  Ladies Man my biggest smile and say   "So what time are you picking me up?"

Ahhhhhhhhh!!!! I was only joking o!

And the pain goes on.

"Mummy! Stop hugging me. I can’t breathe and my wrapper."

She looks down and notices that my “Only to be seen after marriage goods” are on display. A normal mother would hastily cover up her daughter’s modesty but mine just laughs and says

“What haven’t we all seen before?”

I beg your pardon?! Give me my wrapper jo. Maybe you’re in the habit of flashing your bits around but I like to keep mine encased in 100% silk knickers and under clothes preferably.

"Mummy please!!!!"

"Ok o but when all 3 of you used to play around naked and we used to beg you to wear cloths that was a different story abi? You are now posing for each other? Oya hold still let me help you tie it."

Me and who? I never have and I never will be involved in a kinky 3 way. The rumors are all lies. Anyway, Mena never forgets a naked hottie and I ain’t ever seen either of these guys before. Naked or otherwise.

"Mena don’t you remember your cousins?" says my mum as she deposits me into the nearest chair.

"Cousins?"

YOU LIE WOMAN!

I have no hot cousins. All my cousins are fugly! Fuuuuugggglllyyy! I tell you and they have no style to boot.

She’s probably being a typical Nigerian and calling random family friends cousins.

Please God don’t let them be biological cousins. I should at least get to have one of them after letting them see my naked bottom. I’m sure it’s in the Bible that you have to marry who ever sees you naked.

Really? All the other ones before this  n’ko?

I don’t know what you are talking about. I am as pure as the driven snow. I now see you are the people spreading all the lies about me en? You don’t want me to marry abi? As Ijebu Chick likes to say “All my enemies die, die, die!”

Ah ah! Which one na die again? Back to sender.

Tough!!!!! My Epée shield is up and fully activated. Nothing is coming back to me. Komot from my blog jare enemy of marital progress.

"Yinka*, Ayo* you don’t remember Mena?"

Yinka*!!!!!! It can't be. He ain’t no blinkin’ cousin. He’s my mum’s friend’s scrawny kid that used look up my skirt and put his boogies in my hair. Last time I saw him he was being trashed by his mother for melting my Suntan Barbie in the oven. How dare he come back 30 years later looking all hot? As for his Brother Ayo, wonder if he’s still a total nerd? Always had his big ol' head in a book. The rest of his body has definately caught up with his head sha. All muscly. Not as hot but definitely not fugly either. Lord I so need some make up.

We all mumble, “Hi’s” and one of the non-cousins suggests that my mum better take me to the hospital.

2 hours later I’m on my way home with more drugs than Tyrone on a project street corner. I apparently have a viral infection which my mother has attributed to me kissing boys that don’t come from good homes. I am too tired to question the medical basis of her diagnosis. I just want to put my head down and sleep. I snuggle into her lap and let her stroke my hair.

“This is nice” I think as I start to nod off.

"So which one should we focus on?"

Huh? What’s she talking about now? Be quiet woman and stop spoiling the Hallmark moment.

"Yinka is a bit too fine and exciting for you. I don’t think you can handle him. Maybe if you start wearing your Body Wowo and some Lycra dresses, I might be able to get him interested."

My own mother is not really saying all this to me. It’s the drugs making me hear things.

"Ayo is better. Very stable young man. You won’t have problems with him. I saw the way he was looking at you today. Even with your rolls of fat on display he seemed interested."

I’m not listening….Lalalalalalalalala

"I think he has some local “Buy me credit” girlfriend his mother doesn’t like. Between the two of us we can get you two together by Independence Day. They said they would come and check up on you later so as soon we get home, I don’t care how sick you are, you will have a bath and make yourself look ravishing."

"Mummy! You and Aunty are not God. Please leave Ayo and his local girlfriend alone. We are all adults and I would like to think, capable of making our own decisions. If he likes me he will let me know without you meddling. Now can we please just forget about men and marriage for one day and focus on the fact that I’m ill?"

Next thing I know my head is being roughly removed from her comfortable lap and shoved to one side.

"Mummy! That hurt." I moan rubbing my throbbing temples.

"Good. That pain is nothing compared to what you will feel when you wake up at 40 all alone and realize that your posing caused it."

"Look I’m not saying you can’t hook me up mum. I’m just saying you don’t have to go all mafia and start getting rid of current girlfriends or stalking people. You’re making me look desperate."

"In case you haven’t been looking around, you’re not the hottest or youngest chick in Lagos. You better be desperate and start fighting for what you want or else all those small girls with their perky breasts and hot pants will have married at least 3 times before you get to number one. Love and marriage is not like in the movies darling. It’s a war. It was a war when I was your age and I didn’t even have half the problems you have to contend with now. I know you think I’m mean to you and that I don’t care about your feelings when I say these things. The truth is I love you more than you will ever know and the thought of you being all alone when I’m gone scares me."


"Oh Mummy!" I burst into tears and throw myself back into her ample bossom(It runs in the family).

She loves me and she's so right. I don't want to die all old and alone surrounded by my shoes.

"There, there, don t cry. It’s going to be alright. Mummy is going to fix everything. As soon as we get home just go upstairs and shave off that nature reserve growing under your armpits ok? And don’t you have a sexy dressing gown because this your wrapper moves just dey disgrace person."

Why do I fall for it every time?

Make the pain stop!

I woke up yesterday morning and felt like I’d been doused in hot acid, rolled in chill peppers and had the whole of Mo Hit records partying in my head. Everything hurt, ached and throbbed. My nose was all bunged up and I was hacking away like some demented old witch. I was ill…Again!

Lord why me? I blame all the constant crying on my shoulder by Bad Weave. She must have passed her local germs to me. My finely tuned virus defence system, having never encountered germs of such razzness and bad taste before, must have fled rather than touch them in battle. I don’t blame you my delicate white blood cells. Run! Save yourselves from the Fuji loving bacteria. But it means I need drugs and I’m going to have to go to the hospital. Even worse, it means I’m going to have to talk to my mother.

You mean you still haven’t let this BB Guy thing go Mena?

Of course I have. She is my mother after all. Its not like I can return her now is it? So I have accepted my destiny and I’m learning to bear my cross. Anyway, seeing as there currently isn’t a man on the horizon, the chances of getting out of this house anytime soon are looking slim. So I am respecting  myself before my mother sparks and boots my sulking behind out. I’m only avoiding her to ensure no harrowing conversations on marriage, weight or what I’m doing with my life occur.

I literally crawl out of bed, down the stairs, into the living room.

"Mummy I’m ill."  I say, collapsing at her feet and burying my head under her iro for comfort.

"Will you come on get off the floor and stop wiping your snotty nose on my clothes like a bush baby. Can’t you see we have guests?"

Huh? We do?

I peek out from under the iro and sure enough there were 2 other people in the room. And not just people, Hot, members of the opposite sex kinda people. Hmmm… My peripheral vision must really suck or I am reeeaaally ill. How the hell could I have missed hot guys?! OK let’s assess the situation. I’m lying on the floor in my see through nightie(It was laundry day and I got tired of waiting for “The One” to arrive before I could  launch it), a wrapper, hair net, no make up, no bra and at this point I no longer have the will to live.

I have 3 options:

A - Reverse crawl out of the room without saying a word and hope they think I was a figment of their imagination.

B- Continue to lie on the floor, close my eyes and say nothing until my mother is forced to call an ambulance to whisk me away from my current shame filled Mena moment


Or


C- Get up! Say hello and walk out of there like I was the hottest thing since man discovered fire.

I chose to go with option C. I could turn this situation round. I am Mena after all.

Trust your bad self Mena.

Yeah! I'm bad! Sho mo! but er...Brain isn't. It chose to go with option B.

Huh?

Abi? U wan deny am? No be u dey control all my bodily functions?

Try as I might I just couldn’t make myself get up. Anyway after taking so long to figure out what to do, getting up and saying "Hello" now would just be awkward. They wouldn’t just think I was local but insane as well. So I simply let my head fall to the ground (Owwwwww!!!!) and waited to see how long it would take my mother to react.

"Menaa!!!!"

3 seconds. Not bad.

"Mennna!!! Oh my God help me! I think she’s dead."

Ah ah! What is always wrong with this woman? Which one is dead again? Don’t people ever faint where she comes from?

God forgive you. You are a very wicked daughter. Look at how you are scaring your mother?

I beg let me hear word. My head hurts. Anyway it’s not like I did it on purpose. You would do the same thing if you ran into hot guys whilst half naked with no make up on. STOP JUDGING ME!

"Quick help me lift her up."

No!!!! Lift ke? There shall be no lifting. The shame, if these 2 guys can’t carry my ample frame off the floor, might actually kill me. Doesn’t she watch TV? Check my airways and call an ambulance dammit! Payan payan!

"It’s alright madam calm down. We need to check she’s still breathing and that her airways aren’t obstructed before we move her."

Finally the voice of reason. Sounds like he watches ER. My kinda man. Unlike this Kakaki watching woman. If it was up to her, she would have thrown my unconscious, airway obstructed body unto the back of an okada and zoomed off to the ER, killing me in the process.

Ohhh nice. One of the hotties is checking my pulse. Strong, manly hands on my body...Mmmmm

"I can hear rasping noises coming from her throat..."

Damn! Did I moan out loud?

"She might be choking. Move back ma let make sure she’s not swallowing  her tongue."

"Menaa!!! Ti pa mi o. What will I tell her father? They will say it is the holy spices I have been putting in her food."

En???!!!! Holy wetin? God don catch you today. I thought my Frosties tasted a tad odd lately. Now we know why. I shall deal with you when I finish feigning unconsciousness.

What the…?

One of the hotties is trying to pry my mouth open. No way that’s gonna happen. I haven’t brushed my gnashers yet and no potential Mr.Mena is getting a whiff of morning breath before he’s had a chance to see the finer things I have to offer. So I clamp down hard and start to wonder how to get myself out of this quickly deteriorating farce.

I should just make a miraculous recovery.

I move my head from side to side, escaping mystery hottie number ones prying fingers( They tasted like donuts by the way...Yummy Tasting Hottie),

Omo ko omo!


and I  let out a few ladylike moans, before allowing my eyelids to flutter open.


" Where am I? What happened?" I say in a sexy low mumur


Ladies & Gentlemen and the Oscar goes to...


Yummy Tasting Hottie gazes into my eyes, touches my forehead and says


"You fainted. You're going to be..."


before MY MOTHER ruins our romantic first meeting by shoving him out of the way and putting me in a bear hug, whilst  sobbing like a baby.

Oh gosh! She is rather upset isn't she?

Yah think spawn of the devil?! There's a special place in the afterlife for ungrateful children like you.

I didn't mean too. Everything just spiralled out of control. Anyway don't worry, pay back has come early.  My mothers vigorous hugging just made my wrapper drop. My butt cheeks are on display for the whole world to see. I can't see Hottie number 2 but Yummy Tasting Hottie does not look impressed.

My aching head. Just kill me now and make all the pain and embarrassment stop.

Male Mates Needed. Apply Here!

Lord have mercy! That’s like the 15th e-mail in the space of an hour. This is why you should never let another woman hug you in the ladies loo. They get all clingy and demanding.




Sod off woman!!!



I don’t want to know if Fuji dancer hasn’t picked up your call for the umpteenth time. Don’t you have friends to talk too?





Bitchy!



Whatever!!! Look, I can appreciate that Bad Weave is going through a bad time, but the fact that I patted her on the back and helped her blow nose doesn’t suddenly make me her new BFF. She's been making me do lunch so she can sob on my shoulder. My dry cleaning bill this month is going to be horrendous. Hasn't she ever heard of waterproof mascara? Anyway she wants me to come down to Fuji Boys place with her to talk to him. Naturally that’s where I drew the line. That's the kind of trip you take your close mates, who have had the torturous experience of meeting Fuji Boy, on. Not some random hot chick that works in your office. I'm sorry Bad Weave I ain't looking to be your friend.



If I wanted new friends, I definitely wouldn’t be looking in her direction. And despite what you might all think it ain't just the bad hair and men choices that’s standing in her way. We just don’t have anything in common. I’m too old to be forcing myself to hang with people just because I feel sorry for them or I’m bored and lonely. Making friends is a delicate process and you just don’t hand yourselves over to random people just because you happen to know their dirty little secrets.



To make matters worse, Rat Boy who now knows I know has been trying to get me to talk her into seeing things his way. Not my beeswax mate. You shagged her. You bag her. I ain’t involving myself in this Tinsel plot line. Everybody leave me alone.



Don’t worry you’ll be alone pretty soon, considering your only mate in Lagos; Speedy Gonzales is jetting off to New York for 4 months as we speak.



Noooooooooooo!!!! Why Speedy?!! Why?!!



Damn the dodgy maternity services in this country. Why is everyone so obsessed with jetting off to have their sprogs? I was born here and turned out just fine thank you very much. Army Barracks Hospital Ilorin…I salute you (Could have done a better job moulding my ears but thank God for long flowing weaves.) She lied!!! She doesn’t love me or she wouldn’t be leaving me at the mercy of my crazy man wrapper sister. Boo Hoo. I do need new friends don’t I Brain?



Yes you do Anti-social one.



Ok! But can we only look for male friends? Can’t cope with female drama.



Ashawo! Wetin you wan take male friends do?



Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m taking a sabbatical from lusting over men remember?



If you say so. That’s why you’ve been aiming your cleavage towards Six Pack Guy all week abi?



Oh that! Not what you think. We were conducting an experiment. He was helping me decide what angle my boobies looked perkiest at for future man catching purposes.



If I could make you slap yourself I would. Actually I can...



Ow! Stop that.



He’s so metro sexual he’s swung right past the hetro to gay. So I wouldn't worry about him Brain. Or at least I think he has. In fact I’ll eat carbs if he ain’t gay. His interest in my hair and shoes is way too intense to be normal male behavior. I mean only this morning he high fived me for being right on trend with my Gucci raffia tote.
I pirry you. I wouldn’t assume he’s anything until he tells you himself or you catch him in a compromising position with the stationery boy who definitely is. If you like keep giving him film show.


Nah! No way. He calls me girlfriend and we’re even thinking of going to some fashion show over the weekend. Definitely a whole lot more fun hanging with a guy.

Afraid no catch you abi? A word is enough for the wise. From fashion show you go branch bar. From bar your "Can't hold her drink" self will end up in the supposed gay man's house doing very un gay things. Any man that’s not a eunuch, Gucci bag lovin’ or otherwise, is dangerous. I don’t want to hear "O ka mi mo corner" o.



Askology. You ain't my Daddy!! So chillax and stop being so suspicious! You should be happy. I might just be making a new friend and at work too.

Find a girlfriend. I don talk my own.


Look as any woman will testify making friends with guys is just easier. Guys ain’t hating on your weave or eyeing up your boyfriend behind your back (Well these days you never know). There are only 2 reasons why a guy is your friend in the first place. You’re either very hot and he’s hoping one day you will trip over and conveniently fall into his shag master 2000 deluxe king-size bed with the rotating overhead mirrors or you make him laugh and he thinks you’re cool. Outside of those 2 reasons there ain’t much else they are interested in.



Also guys like to do fun stuff like play video games, drink copious amounts of vodka, talk about pointless crap in loud voices and most importantly they know other guys who might be suitable for dating duty when my man fast is over.



So really, guy friends are the future. I just have to maintain the key rule to staying friends with a guy; which is never sleep with them. You can flirt with them till kingdom come but never ever snog or sleep with them cause that just creates all sorts of messy boundary issues. I see some people at the back of the room eagerly raising their hands to ask things like "What about friends with benefits?" etc.



Story. Do you have female friends with benefits? If you do then you probably ain’t interested in blokes anyway and if you still are then...Does your mama know you’re kinky lil’ so and so? Anyway my point is once you start giving up the extra’s you’re now in shag buddy territory, which is a whole other blog.



Being friends with a woman…I beg. Wahala dey plenty.



The reasons why a woman might want to be your friend are endless. Which is why I avoid female friendships like the plague. They're cool when you're still pubescent and you think boy bands are the best thing ever. But once you get past a certain age its just easier to stick to the girls you've known all your life instead of trying to fit into some clique that has so many rules and regulations to join its easier to be employed by the CIA.



Don't get me wrong, I do talk to other girls and we do the whole number swapping thing but deep down we both know we're just going to remain acquaintances and air kiss when we see each other at parties. I’ve got my own issues; don’t need a random girl bringing me down. I shall stick with Ijebu Chick & Bunnylicious. They might be annoying and thousands of miles away but at least I know they got my back.



So I think the best way to handle this is to maybe hold open auditions for my new male mates. Anyone who’s interested should send me their BB pins and I’ll take it from there. No “Cant afford to buy his own popcorn when we go the movies” applicants please. And also it wouldn't kill you to be cute, have modicum of style and a strong grasp of the English language. I might not be planning on dating your arse but I don’t plan on slumming it either.

I think we're gonna need more tissues.

 Bad Weave’s fiancé has dumped her 3 months to the wedding after he caught her in a steamy liaison at Mama Cass. Please don’t ask me how it’s possible to have a steamy liaison at Mama Cass. I’m too tush to know.

Ennnnn!!!! Ashawo. Na wa Mena. This one that you can’t even find one to lampash you and she’s keeping 2 to herself. It’s a shame sha.

Gerraway jo! I know you are just using style to insult me.

What’s the big deal? I just  kinda got dumped too and slapped with a BB restraining order to boot. I should be the one sobbing in the ladies. I could be picking out table linens with my wedding planner by now. Boo Hoo!

N’do. Se you know your own romance was a figment of your over active imagination sha?

Kiss my BBB (Beautiful Black Behind)!

Anyway, to make matters worse…She’s pregnant.

Ahhh!!! That one na different story but at least she’s been getting some. Unlike some people.

Continue being lippy.

It's true sha…The bi*#%. But then again, it depends on who you’ve been getting it from. Guess what makes this whole situation suicide worthy?

Wetin??

She was caught in a steamy liaison with Rat Boy formerly known as Chipmunk from the office.

Na lie! Story don wowo finish.

I don’t know why but I am rather upset by this news. I don’t know if it’s the mental image of both them getting it on that’s now looping through my brain that’s upsetting me; The fact that even Rat Boy is getting his groove on and I’m not or the knowledge that they were able to carry out a sordid affair under my nose without me finding out. I pride myself on my instincts and if anyone had told me that Rat Boy had ever seen or knew what to do with a naked woman, I would have had them committed.

All interest in Six Pack guy has now gone. I needed to hear me some gist.

As it turns out Bad Weave’s Fuji dancing boyfriend had proposed to her in a drunken haze about a month ago and it seems he was now getting cold feet. He had started ignoring her phone calls, staying out till all hours and taking an unseemly interest in the opposite sex. After a row over catching him in his neighbor’s apartment with nothing but a pair of boxers on (He claims he was helping her kill a cockroach. I don’t even have a witty remark for that), Bad Weave had come into work early the next day and had a mini sobbing fit. Rat Boy had arrived in the middle of the whole thing and given her a shoulder to cry on

Over the weeks, as Fuji dancing boyfriend’s behavior detiriorated, so did the muscles in Rat Boys shoulder, and they totally gave way one day causing Bad Weaves head to slip and placing her lips directly over Rat Boys. The rest as they say was history.

Personally it would take a whole lot more than a cheating boyfriend to send me into the stubby arms of Rat Boy. I’m not even sure a nuclear holocaust and the need to repopulate the earth would. If it was up to me and him, believe me, Cockroaches would rule the world.

Anyway she claims she didn’t know what happened but she just couldn’t help herself after that. Every time she had a row with Fuji Boy, Rat Boy and his “Miraculous rod of wonder” would pop by and make everything alright.

Did she want to be with him?

Apparently not. Her exact words being “Hell no!”

He was apparently an Okada riding, Dundun eating, junior member of staff. There was no future with him. He was just sweet to her and with Fuji Boy being a  typical macho male, she was missing some tenderness. She loved Fuji Boy despite his dodgy ways and anyway he owned a Tokunbo Prado. Nuff said.

The only problem now was after the whole Mama Cass debacle, Fuji boy and his Prado had kicked her to the kerb. He was probably back on cockroach killing duty at his neighbors as we speak. Rat Boy on the other hand seems to have fallen for the lure of synthetic hair and was now claiming paternity to the unborn child and demanding she give their relationship a chance. I mean why let a little thing like no car and your meager salary stand in the way of love abi?

I  can personally think of many reasons but I ain't pregnant and unable to decide if the baby daddy is a gyrating philanderer or a poverty stricken rodent. So I shall be keeping my opinions to myself.

 Her question to me was “What would you do?”

God forbid! May I never be able to answer that question.

How the hell do I know Trampy? My sole knowledge of  issues like this  is garnered from Nollywood and I’m not sure their way of dealing with things is necessarily the right way to go. I honestly  can’t even begin to relate to anything she’s telling me.

The only time I’ve ever cheated on someone was when I was in college and too much of a wimp to break up with the loser I was with. I tried. Believe me I tried but he would break into tears every time I attempted to tell him things weren’t working out. So I figured the best way to sort it out was to move on but not bother telling him I’d moved on. I figured he would work it out soon enough when he saw me smooching someone else on campus.

This on the other hand is a whole different kettle of fish.

Bad Weave,  I’m all out of advice but I do have a giant box of Kleenex that I’m willing to share.

Abi? What else can I do?

Six Packs & Tissues.

Friggin, stupid men.


Who needs them?

Not me that’s for sure.

After all, apart from the sex what else are they really good for? And lets be honest some of them can’t even get the sex bit right. I mean come on,  how hard is it to keep going for 3 hours and make some multiple O’s happen whilst telling me I’m the best you’ve ever had in French? Exactly! Nothing to it abi and yet do I get that? Of course not. One ex had the nerve to say to me I was "Too demanding" and that there was nothing wrong with 10 minutes and a cuddle afterwards. 10 minutes!!!! It takes me that long to decide who I’ll be fantasizing about whilst the whole things going on. And as for cuddling…Totally overrated when the person cuddling you has just scratched his itch and left you wondering what the hell just happened? Nope! Don’t need em. I can change my own light bulbs thank you very much. I will throw myself into my work and breed chickens to fill my lonely hours. Chickens! What’s not to love? Unconditional clucky devotion and you can eat them when they piss you off.

I stroll into the office determined to be a better employee and put the last couple of weeks behind me. I reach my desk and lo and behold there is 6ft of gorgeousness sitting by it. I immediately suck in my tummy and thank God for forcing me to put make up on. I sashay up to my desk; sit down opposite him and kapow him with my 100 mega watt smile.

“Hi! Are you waiting for me?”


“Hi! I’m not sure. Are you Mena?”


“Yep! That’s me and you are?”

“My names ….."

(It’s got be Six Pack Guy).

"I’m the new Account Manager. “


Finally!!! My prayers have been answered. After months of petitioning HR via anonymous notes in the suggestion box, they have finally employed some eye candy for my department. Hello Six Pack Guy. How you doinnnng?? My self imposed ban on men will have to wait.

“Sorry to be camped out at your desk but it seems your HR department wasn’t quiet ready for me. So I was told to hang out with you and you would show me the ropes.”

God bless our incompetent HR department. I’ll show you the ropes alright.  Right before I tie you to my headboard with them and make you my kinky slave.

Mena!!!!!

Sorry! I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Pull yourself together woman.

I know Brain. We need to do something about my raging hormones. I’ve tried everything…Food, TV, going out, shopping, prayer and even fasting. But I just can't stop thinking about it. It’s all the time now. My mind is constantly playing naughty images in my head. If I was a dog I‘d be rubbing myself against every leg I could find. This is a disaster. I’m having a midlife kinky crisis. I’m all itchy and there’s no one to scratch it. Well there wasn’t until now.

Don’t even think about it Mena. We shall not be getting scratched by any one who gets paid by the same payroll as us. You’re just a bit stressed and hormonal at the moment. All that drama with BB boy  has you frazzled. You’ll be fine.

But he’s so cute and muscly. Damn! Here comes Bad Weave. She’s bound to want him too. As a matter of principle I should be allowed to make my move before she tries anything Brain.

No! You no dey hear word?

Hey! What’s going on here? Bad Weave just walked past without so much as a lustful glance in Six Pack's direction. Something ain't right here.  I turn to him and give him a quick once over. Nah! My nookie deprived brain isn’t playing tricks on me. He’s cute dammit! Why isn’t she interested? I know she has a boyfriend but that usually doesn’t stop her. Now I’m scared. Maybe her jazz has warned her about his hot self. He might be disease ridden, have a Johnson the size of a peanut (I wonder if there’s jazz that can tell you that? You know…Exciting equipment makes the crotch area glow green and a red flashing light tells you to run for dear life and sexual liberation. I need to look into that) or even worse, unable to keep me in shoes. I must investigate further.

I follow Bad Weave into the ladies room and find her sobbing uncontrollably. Her cheap Island cosmetics mascara is running down her face and one of her false eyelashes is literally hanging on for dear life. Under ordinary circumstances I would have whipped out my BB and filmed this for prosperity. You know something to cheer me up when I’m having a bad day but I had more pressing issues here. I needed to find out if Six Pack Guy was a potential play thing or if I needed to disinfect my desk and sepe on HR for tempting me with damaged goods.

“Are you OK Bad Weave? What’s the matter?”

She sniffs loudly, says something unintelligible and throws herself in my arms.

Eeeeewwwwwwwwwww!!!!! Personal space! Personal space dammit!

Oh my God!! she’s getting make up and bodily fluids all over my new Banana Republic silk tee. I need to bring this love fest to a close.

“There, there…everything’s going to be alright. Just sit here and tell me what’s wrong.”

I deposit her firmly on the loo and back up to a safe distance to listen to her pathetic tale of woe. I mean what could possibly be so wrong? Did her hairdresser run out of bad hair or maybe one of her sugar daddies wives finally gave her the beat down she deserves. Either way I’m only pretending to care so I know if it’s worth investing in a Brazilian wax before the weekend.

After several failed attempts to make out what she was saying through all the sobbing, the picture finally become's clear and let’s just say she needed to be crying a bit more than that. I actually considered shoving her out the window and helping her end it all.

Damn woman! How old are you again?

How could you have let all this happen?