It turns out Chipmunk isn’t so cute and cuddly after all. He’s more like a rabid gutter rat with extremely fat cheeks. Wondering what happened to sour the love? Well, there I was minding my business when Grumpy’s shadow casts a gloom over my desk.
“Can I have a word with you Miss Mena”?
Our Grumpy is very formal. Anyway,I follow him into his cardboard box size corner of the office, covered with pictures of Mrs. Grumpy (unsmiling, skinny, short woman. No wonder Grumpy is grumpy) and equally grumpy looking children, to find chipmunk waiting for us. I smile but he averts his gaze. He can’t possibly still be sulking about the meeting gag Boli Lover and I played on him? I’ll have to make amends with him later. What do Chipmunks like to eat?
“Miss Mena I have just spoken to Mr…… about his latest substandard report and he has informed me that on this occasion it was entirely due to your inaccurate research information. He has also suggested that maybe you are not entirely an asset to this department. What do you have to say in response to that?”
What the frig?
"Et tu, Chipmunk? Et tu?"
For all you non Latin speakers that translates to
"E wo, Chipmunk? E wo?"
"Na you do me so, Chipmunk. Na you?"
Why the lying little weasel. I ought to stomp his lights out. To think I stayed late working on the info for HIS report and he dares to blame me for the fact that it’s crappy? Like I wrote the darn thing. Well, we’ll just see who makes it out of here alive rat.
10 minutes and 2 file binders of evidence later, Rat Boy formerly known as Chipmunk is busy getting the telling off of his life from Mr. Grumpy for daring to blame his tools for his inability to write a coherent report. I am excused and skip happily back to my desk. It ain’t over though. I’m gonna get him back. Not sure how and when, but I will.
Anyway after all that trauma I decided to go visit my friend Speedy Gonzales Chick (If you ever see her drive, you’ll realize the name is totally apt) after work for a good ol' moan about ibi ise.
So there we are, chilling in her bedroom and I ask her who does her hair because my girl is always on point. She kinda dithers a bit and then whips out her bible from under her pillow and says
“Swear on this bible that you won’t reveal what I’m about to tell you to anyone else and if you do this friendship is totally over”.
Oooooooooooooooooooooooookkkk lady. Your hair ain’t that fine. I ain’t swearing on any bible that I won’t reveal stuff. You all know once someone tells you to swear before they tell you something the gist is either going to be too hot to keep to yourself or so freaking weird you’re gonna have to at least tell the cops or a psychiatrist so you don’t top yourself. Anyway, either way you’re buggered. So I say thanks but no thanks.
“What’s with all the drama missy? All I wanted was a weave not the location of Osama Bin Laden’s underground bunker.”
“Fine, you don’t have to swear. I’ve known you forever so I’ll trust you. But pleaaaaaaaassse don’t give anyone my stylist's name or number because I can’t be rocking the same hairstyle as everyone else.”
Ok crazy lady. Just hand over the digits and let me get my behind out of here before you start hearing voices. For goodness sake its just hair.
What’s the deal ladies? Why are you all so secretive about your designer's or stylist’s? You girls guard everything like Russia & America during the cold war. But believe me; even their spies have nothing on the average Lagos girl guarding her styling secrets. Look your tailor needs to eat too and he can’t survive on the one measly dress you make every 6 months, so spread the love and give other people the chance to look cute too.
Gee! Everyone is doing my head in today. I need a cuddle(Back up no hopers. I'm still not that desperate yet). Lagos is too hard and snobby. And everybody always wants a piece of you. I miss my old crew...Sob. I don't feel like talking to you lot anymore (Well you aren't really the most exciting bunch of people out there are you?). I need time to feel sorry for myself. Maybe writing a 5 page action plan on how to make Rat Boy's life a living hell will make me feel better. Then maybe a stiff drink, bed and a blown up copy of Glo boys picture. Ah! Feel better already.