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.