Maybe Lunch wasn't such a good idea.

Ibis ise Lagos style ain’t working for me at the moment. I haven’t had a laptop in over a week and I’m starting to lose the will to live. I always thought the crazies in this mad house would get to me first but I actually think the boredom might beat them to it. At least when I had my laptop I could pretend to be busy on some important report, when all I was really doing was sending complaint letters to Pack'N’Shop for refusing to restock their nut department with Pistachios. I mean what kind establishment gets a girl hooked and then takes away her supply? Exactly! I plan to take this issue to the highest level.

Anyway I digress. The problem now is I can’t pretend to be busy anymore so my desk is now the resting point for every bored tushy in the office. Apart from Bad Weave chick who is avoiding me after my frosty reception to her “Hello” on Monday, everyone in the dept feels the need to come over and torment me with their pointless conversation. After my narrow escape from Boli Lover’s local advances yesterday I definitely was not in the mood for Ladies Man today.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeelllll, I wasn’t until I saw the look of utter longing on Bad Weave’s face as he headed in our direction. Hmm…Big arms abi? Well watch those big ol' arms catch your man cow.

“Hello” I said as he perched his rather pert bum cheeks on my desk. Never noticed the abs before and he smells kinda good too.

Ok Mena. Focus. We shall not be lusting after co-workers today. We’re just going to rub the cow’s nose in it for a bit and we shall return to ice princess mode ASAP. Comprende?

Ah brain. Why do you always have to be so serious? Loosen up. There’s a cute guy with a cute butt at our desk, which doesn’t happen every day (at least not in this hottie deprived office anyway). So let’s have some fun.

Mena you do realize he’s been talking for the past 5 minutes while you’ve been staring at his lunchbox?

He has? He really shouldn’t speak you know. He should just put on a pair of Speedo’s and dance for naughty Mena. Yeah bad boy! Dance for mama.

MENA!!!

Sorry. It’s been a while. It’s alright. I’m cool. Chastity belt is still on.

15 minutes of girly giggles and eyelash fluttering later, I’m on my way out to an early lunch with Ladies Man and last time I saw Bad Weave girl she was heading to the ladies. Probably to cry her eyes out. Hehehehehehehe.

You’re evil!

I know.

I’m back from operation “Make her pay” and I think in some twisted, karma biting me in the ass kinda way, I’ve just made myself pay. That was the longest 45 minutes of my life. Abi, is just me or are average/unattractive looking guys just a tad more interesting than the drop dead, take me now kinda guys? I only ask because in my experience hotties just never seem to make much of an effort on dates. It’s like they assume the fact that they turned up is enough. You can see the “You mean upon the free food you are eating and my dazzling good looks you still want me to be talking en? I can see you are very greedy and not the woman for me” thoughts going through their heads. Apparently decent conversation is an optional extra we have to pay for.

I once went on a date with a guy that was so loin burning hot (Yes I did. I promise I’m not making it up. I do occasionally date out of the ugly gene pool you know), it actually hurt to look at him. I could feel the “Who give monkey banana?” looks from the other women in the restaurant but what they all didn’t know was that I would have handed him over in a heartbeat cause Lord, I was bored. I wonder if this is why all my long term boyfriends have not been what you would call “Hotties”. I think interesting to look at would be the best way to describe them but you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. What they lacked in looks they certainly made up for in personality. I think most of them probably couldn’t believe my fine ass self was agreeing to go out with them to begin with, so I was their trophy girl until they realized I was just as crazy as all the ugly chicks (Sorry, I meant facially challenged)they were used to dating.

Anyway I digress again. Yuck! Is he winking at me from his desk? What the hell have I gotten myself into? Bad Weave is welcome to Ladies Man shallow but cute behind cause I sure as hell don’t want it. All through lunch he barely said a word that didn’t revolve around his hotness and how women just throw themselves at him. And when he wasn’t talking about himself, he just stared into my eyes and kept touching my hand every time he laughed at his own dry jokes. After a while I started to panic that maybe he was trying out some new hypnotic jazz on me. So I spent the rest of the afternoon making sure my purse and knickers were still intact. God forbid I should wake up the next day, robbed and violated by the office gigolo just because I wanted to get even. Who I go tell that kin story to? Anyway I made it back to the office safely but the purse and knicker inspection shall continue until I am safely behind the jazz free walls of my father’s compound.

Annoying Married Chick, Bunnylicious & Ijebu Chick, I beg take turns to check up on my whereabouts for the rest of the day. Should I not respond to your calls please tell Mama Mena to immediately activate the tracking device I know she has implanted somewhere under my skin (It’s the only explanation for how she always knows what I’m up to. It’s either that or she's chanelling some serious Harry Potter moves) and send MOPO's to rescue me. I expect to be found before Ladies Man ever discovers what bra size I wear or that I’m wearing the knickers that have “Monday” printed on them on a Thursday(Is it my fault the elastic on my Thursday knickers broke? And I so don’t want to hear anything about my fat ass or how days of the week knickers are meant for 5 year olds). I expect you all to forget the evil things I've done to you in the past and save my jazzed behind ok? Thanking you in advance.

E go better

Come closer. No closer, I want to tell you something I’ve never told you guys before.

What is it Mena? Do tell. Are you are really a man or something because that might explain the constant need to shave your legs and all that pent up rage and aggression you’ve got going on?

I can see you are not ready to hear better thing. Do I look like a man to you? If you like answer in the affirmative and you’ll find out how I release all the apparent rage and aggression I have going on. Anyway, better people, as I was saying. I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told you guys before. OK. Here goes…I was once engaged.

You ke? Engaged? Who craze enough to ask you to marry them?

I’ll let that slide because I’m channeling my inner peace fairy today. Yep! I once the made the mistake of saying “Yes” to an Argos bought cubic zirconium ring when I was about 20.

Na lie! You mean with all your posing you didn’t internally combust the minute the inferior gold plated ring touched your finger?

Joker! Look I was young, foolish and obviously had no idea what true style was or I would never have said “Yes” to anything less than a tear drop shaped yellow diamond on a platinum band encrusted with pale pink diamonds (Se you so called friends of mine are listening in case my future boo should ever want to know what kind of engagement ring I want). But like I said I was “Crazy in love” and at that age nothing matters but hug, kisses and romance. So what if he rode a bicycle? Okkkk… it wasn’t a bike but some beat up old VW but considering the number of times we had to push the darn thing it might as well have been a bike.

Anyway I didn’t care that he had no money and all that I ever got for my birthday was the toy that came with my birthday happy meal. Someday soon he would be a somebody and would lavish me with love and affection for standing by him through the garium days. Na so life be? Nope! The idiot bought a Peugeot, knocked up some girl and moved to Thames Valley. Like I said, I had taste issues when I was younger.

Eya! Pele Mena.

Pele for yourselves. I personally count it as one of my lucky escapes. I could be married to a cheating, baby daddy, Peugeot driving prat by now with nothing to show for it but a faded cubic zirconium ring. This is why as I’ve grown a bit older, a bit wiser and dated a few more losers, I have reached the decision that never again will Mena involve herself in “E go better “love.

What the hell is that?

“E go better” love for me is anything that involves me having to make do with anything less than I can do for myself. In other words, if I’m flying first class now (I beg chill before you all start shouting. It’s just an example. I know you all know I never pass business class) then I’m not going to start flying economy because I’m dating you. If I’m drinking champagne now then I ain’t having Lambrusco with my dinner because I’m dating you. If I plan to spend my holidays in the South of France now, then please don’t buy tickets to the airport nearest to your village and tell me you’re taking me to the country for Christmas. I’m too old to be managing myself because of somebody else’s issues. So please sir, if it never better for you yet then don’t ask for my number. I can’t afford to be dating no hopers that can’t keep up with moi.

That sounds a tad materialistic.

Uuuuhhh. Don’t we know big words? I beg ITK, just shut it. This has nothing to do with being materialistic and everything to do with being real. You see, I know that if I never get married (God forbid! God forbid! God forbid! I rebuke it! I rebuke it! I rebuke it! See the rubbish you people are making me say? I go marry o.), I would still be able look after myself and have fun. So I’m not looking for a man to save me from financial ruin but to enhance what I’ve already got. Look I’m not some conniving, gold digging shrew. I plan to bring my own assets to the table so all I’m saying is that he better be bringing something too, preferably equal or above what’s already there.

Hey! I’m the girl who went into cardiac arrest over a £4 can of tuna so surely you can see I have my spending limits, so I’m not looking for “Here’s a picture of my 3rd home in the Maldives” kinda money (Father Lord, as your ever grateful daughter I would not say no sha if you choose to bless me with a 3rd home in the Maldives. Amen). But the days of dating losers who sleep in their car (Yep! I went there but it’s a long story), who always forget their credit cards on dates (went there too) or who borrow money and never pay it back (I know! I must have had a sign on my head saying losers queue here when I was younger) are over. I’ve paid my dues to the members of the “E go better” society and it’s time to move on to another club.

Na wa for you!

Say what you will but this isn’t Hollywood and love doesn’t conquer no light, no food, no clothes, and no school fees for the kids. I’d be back at my parent before you could even say “Bride price” if that’s what the guy had to offer because believe me, love would soon turn to resentment, to hate and eventually to “Sign here Mrs.….. and your divorce will be final.”

But don’t get it twisted now. I’m not talking about being in a relationship and God forbid something goes wrong and we have to suffer a bit. I’m a firm believer in for better or worse once we’re MARRIED or in a serious, COMMITTED RELATIONSHIP e.g ENGAGED(Please note the capital letters so no so called boyfriends should start complaining when I dump there sad selves). But God forbid I notice, whilst you’re still chatting me up, that your so called savings account is a sock under a Dunlop mattress in your one room or that you’re always flashing me to call you back. If I don’t break up with your sorry ass right there and then, then I deserve all I’ve got coming.

So ladies, please respect yourselves and don't go into what you can't handle. If you know the glue on your lace front wig can't handle the wind speeds on an okada then don't date a guy who picks you up on one for your dates. Fine, he might be hot and worth the 40 days fasting you are gonna have to put yourself through for all the impure thoughts you're having but can you really live with bad hair? And fella's, sorry if the truth hurts but you’ve got to know that if you can’t keep a girl in the Jimmy Choo’s she’s accustomed to then you probably won’t be keeping her for long…period.

So dear Boli Lover, who instigated this rant by inviting me to grab something to eat at Mr.Biggs sometime, please just pretend I don't exist and keep on loving the boli because my own don already better.

Hey sister! Listen up

For all of you that assumed I was in jail because I haven’t blogged in a while, shame on you. How dare you even consider the possibility that an evil genius like myself could ever be apprehended by the forensic capabilities of the NPF (No offence to our fine, upstanding officers … but come on?!!). Nope, I’m still as free as a bird because this is what happened…

I was about to stab Bad Weave girl to death with a Sweet Sensation toothpick, when I was rudely interrupted by Mum’s driver who had picked me up from work.

“Small madam you don finish?”

“Tony wetin? You no see say I dey busy?” I replied as I tried to pull one the infernal toothpicks from their unattractive fish shaped holders.

That one was still sitting there with her Diana Ross on crack weave, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She should wait, I’m coming. Maybe when I’ve given her a couple of modern day tribal marks she won’t have so much to smirk about.

“I beg small madam no vex but we have to do fast fast. Your Mama just call to say make I bring the groundnut she send me in the next 5 minutes or else na groundnut she go use pay my salary.”


“Tony please. I’m doing something and anyway you know mummy. She’s just talking. I’ll be done in a minute.”

Yep it shouldn’t take me more than a minute or so to carve out some really ethnic looking ila's on her over powdered face.

“Ah! I beg small madam. Your mama no dey use that kin thing joke o. She don pay me in plantain chips before when I go buy am and I late come. Na your papa help me beg am o otherwise Tony Jnr for don dey grow plantain for head.”

God the woman is a physco. I really didn’t stand a hope in hell of being normal when I was born. Anyway must she torment me even when she is not physically present? Her mates are sending out for Chinese, she’s chasing the poor driver around for groundnut. All I want to do is kill the lying cow (doesn’t suit me indeed. Like that’s even possible) across from me, in as painful a way as possible, without being interrupted. Really is that too much to ask for crying out loud?

Mena why don’t you just go home before Tony has to think of new and interesting ways to live on groundnuts? I hope you kuku know they don’t have stylish uniforms in Kirikiri? Anyway, more important than any style crisis you might suffer behind bars, I personally refuse to end up as someone called Iya Alakara’s bitch. You have been warned.

Hmmmm…You might have a point there brain. After the man drought I’ve been through, I wouldn’t want to start my new lampashing cycle batting for the other side. Fine I will go home, watch some CSI and figure out some ingenious way to dispose of bad weave's body once I’m through tattooing “I shall not disrespect the Mena” all over her with a blunt sewing needle.

“Fine Tony. Let’s go. Well, have a good weekend and I’ll see you on Monday.”

“You too. I’m glad we ran into each other like this.”

Whatever annoying bovine. God save you that I can’t afford to pay Tony’s salary or else.

But honestly ladies…wetin dey? What is the problem with us? Why must we always find a way to rain on another sister’s parade? Please lets all make a vow that from now on we will not compliment people on their handbags and then spend 3 hours on the phone telling anyone who will listen that it’s probably fake. We won’t congratulate anyone on a promotion and then spread the rumour that they slept their way to the top. We won’t tell anyone their boyfriend is hot and then spend all our time wondering what jazz she used on him because he’s obviously too good for her and should be with us. Like my mama always says “if you can’t say anything nice then don’t say anything all (Shame she doesn’t practice what she preaches).” So if you don’t like the way a sister is rocking it fashion or character wise, keep it to yourself and if by some miracle you do, then you definitely shouldn’t have a complex about paying a fellow female a compliment.

For anyone thinking “Pot calling the kettle black”. You need to back up and reevaluate Mena. I might diss a sister in my head for crimes against fashion or improper use of eye shadow but I certainly don’t get in her face and give her a complex about it. Nope. I reserve my verbal dissing for immediate family and close friends. I have no problem telling my sister, Annoying Married Chick (Formerly known as Hurry up and Propose Chick) that neon Lycra hot pants are not the way forward and she should please not spoil the family name by attempting to leave the house in them. Nice? No. Necessary? Very! I diss the one’s I love for their own good and more importantly so any potential hubbies will not think my family have a weird liking for hooker wear. Please don’t feel sorry for her because she and all those in my inner sanctum definitely give as good as they get, which is exactly how it should be. So random strangers, you don’t have to like me or the way I do things but I didn’t ask for your opinion in the first place, so let me and every other woman who’s doing her own thing be.

There I was minding my business when....

I was in Sweet Sensation the other day…

Ah ah! Ma so si ita! Hot chick like you shouldn’t be announcing the fact that she’s hanging out at Sweet Sensation. You should be dropping names like Amber Creek, Marco Polo and other “Good to be seen” places. I beg, respect yourself o.

Hiss…if you like detach yourself from my skull and go and find another body to inhabit. Anyway as I was saying; I was in SWEET SENSATION the other day as I had a sudden craving for all things local (I beg. Woman cannot live by Tuna salad alone). I was standing by the counter trying to decide between steamed bean pudding and spicy mixed spinach when…

What the hell???!!!! You don enter local joint finish you are now trying to blow fone? I beg say what you mean my friend; Moin moin and Efo riro.

Can you see I’m ignoring you brain? Anyway where was I? Yeah! I was trying to decide what to eat when someone tapped my Reiss clad shoulders and said “Hi”.

Great! I think turning around to see who could possibly know me in a place like this. Lo and behold it’s one of the Fiendish Five from my ibi ise. I should have known better than to pick a branch close to my office because standing in front of me with a poodle perm trying to pass as an afro, was Bad Weave Chick. I momentarily thought about pretending to be my own twin sister in order to avoid conversation but she might not buy that seeing as I’m still in my work clothes from earlier on. Fine! I might as well get the pleasantries over with.

You see? You see yourself now? When I am trying to tell you something, it’s always “Shut up brain. Don’t make me hurt you brain”. It’s even good. Maybe by the time your entire being is engulfed in flames caused by the static all that her fake synthetic hair is generating, you would have learnt your lesson.

“Hello” I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster. “What are you doing here”?

“I could ask you the same question. I never thought I would bump into you here”.

“Really? Why would you be surprised to see me here?”

“Well you’re just always so snobbish. You never come out with the rest of the team and to be honest you just always act like you’re too good for places like this.”

Hey! Hey! Back up static sister. Wetin you just call me again? Me? Snobbish? See this girl o? God save her that I want to enjoy my public holiday or I would have thrashed her right in front of the meat pie display counter at Sweet Sensation and risked jail. Abi is it by force to socialise? My philosophy not to hang with people that consider going to owambe parties a hobby remains intact and shall not be altered just because I happen to share office space with them. Nope I will not be spending my “Me” time in a local holding cell so I shall be calm.

Really you think I’m snobby? I’m sorry if I seem stand offish but you have to appreciate the fact that I’m new and it’s going to take me a little while to get used to you guys".

Yeah right! It will be a cold day in hell when I make the effort to get used to fake leather accessories. What the hell is that you’re carrying anyway? Oh my God! Does your bag emblem say “Coc Canel”?

"Well if you say so. I guess we’ll just have to be patient with you. Anyway I’m glad we ran into each other because there’ s something I need to talk to you about and it’s probably better we do it out of the office."

What now? I hope she’s not planning to discuss her yucky crush on the office Romeo with me because thinking I might somehow be interested in his satin shirt wearing self (I know! Where does he think he is? Fantasy Island?), might just be one insult too far today. Sod “Me” time. I’ll whoop her a.. and do the time with joy.

"Sounds intriguing".

"Well the thing is I was told to tell you by someone in the office that your sleeveless dresses are not really appropriate for the workplace".

Na lie! Please brain replay wetin she just talk.

Apparently your Betty Jackson capsule work wardrobe, consisting of this season's to die for dresses is not suitable for your current work environment. Now excuse me whilst a retreat into a coma like state so I cannot be blamed for whatever you are about to do next.

“I beg your pardon but where does it say in the company handbook that sleeveless outfits aren’t allowed and anyway, if HR had a problem, surely they would have informed me formally.”

I like you jare. Violence is not the answer. Instead use your superior sentence construction to tell her what for.

“Oh! Well it’s not so much that they aren’t allowed…Look let me just be honest with you and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but since we’re kinda close being in the same department and all, I was told to tell you that your arms are too big for sleeveless dresses and they don’t really suit you”.

Mena! Mena! Please answer me. You’ve got that scary Freddy Kruger look in your eyes again. Mena please forgive her for she knows not what she says. She’s young and stupid. Can’t you see the real culprits didn’t come themselves, they sent Dumbo here with the message instead. Please Mena let her live. Let her live. Mennnnnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!