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OK! Someone needs to tell me where to go for deliverance because I am getting so tired of all the undesirables that are trying to get a piece of me.
You all remember Alhaji! Alhaji! Don’t you? The hottie with a wifey? Well since our date, he has refused to take no for an answer. He calls up every other day and sends me pointless e-mails. All of which I ignore because I fear Gods wrath more than I fear lonely nights and spinster hood. I refuse to be turned into a pillar of salt for any man. Not even a rich, hot, gap toothed, probably a freak in the bedroom man. But rather than accept the fact that I ain't interested and move on to his next victim, he just keeps trying new and improved ways to get to me.
He calls me up this morning on an unknown number. I just assumed it was one of my peeps from the UK and so I was already smiling, as I was in the mood to waste my oga's time and money on a 15 minute girly gossip.
“Hello”
“Hi beautiful”
Hmm… Bunnylicious needs to stop taking all those Chinese "Make Happy" all night herbs. She’s starting to sound all manly and stuff. And since when does she call me beautiful?
Wake up Dumbo. It’s obviously not her. Geez.
Shut it Brain. I knew that. I was just testing you.
“Hi, who is this?”
“You mean you’ve forgotten my voice already?”
Lord! Why do people think they are witty when they say that? Er…obviously? It’s not like you’re the only human being in the world, let alone the only one I speak too. Learn some phone etiquette damn it and identify yourself.
“Looks like it. I guess you’ll have to help me out.”
“Well,who’s the one man you know you need in your life right now?”
Jesus. That’s right I need Jesus in my life, to shield me from ireti’s with access to mobile phones. I think I’m just going to hang up. Already bored of this dry game and I need to pee really badly.
“I haven’t got a clue but I really need to go now.”
“Don’t go. Ok. It’s me… Alhaji.”
Gasp! Evil, conniving, hot bastard. How dare he try and sneak in under my finely tuned radar.
“I’ve asked you to stop calling me.”
“I know but today’s my birthday and I was hoping you would make an exception and at least talk to me.”
Story story! Birthday my ass. Do married men suddenly become single for 24 hours on their birthday because that news to me? Even if it is his birthday what’s he expecting from me?
“Well happy birthday. I hope you have a great day but I really need to go now.”
“Mena please stop being so hard on me. I just want to spend some time with you.”
“What part of you are not allowed to hang out with me are you not getting?”
“Who says I’m not allowed to be with you?I’m telling you I’m allowed.”
This one don see mumu. Does he have a note from his wife letting him come out to play? Actually he might do. Maybe they are one of those kinky couples that like to invite guests over for sleep over’s? Yuck. Need to nip this convo in the butt.
“OK. Alhaji. I really do have to go. I hope you have a great day. Bye.”
Click.
Prat. Trying to spoil my day with impure thoughts.
Anyway thought that was my minor irritation of the day out of the way nice and early. So I could enjoy the rest of my Friday dossing around on the internet. At about 10.30am, just as I finished eating a cupcake in front of a ravenous Rat Boy (Yes, he still in my bad books and I have found his weakness... Food. The boy is a major grobido), I notice the whole department go quiet.
I knew something was wrong when Bad Weave girl actually stopped mid flirt with Ladies Man and seemed to lose all sensory perception. Ladies Man, in turn stopped ignoring her and started flexing his muscles and adjusting his tie. Rat Boy was still eyeing the cake crumbs on my table and was totally unaware that anything was going on. I turn around to see what finally stopped Bad Weave’s inane chatter about how she was a good cook and Ladies Man needed to come round to try her beans.
Beans?? Come on woman. Even I know better than to try and seduce a guy with a flatulence inducing meal.
Lo and behold in the doorway to my crappy department was Alhaji. I swear the light seemed to shimmer behind him casting him in a sexy seductive glow. He smiled and Bad Weave girl almost broke her leg getting off Ladies Man’s table and sprinting over to him.
“Good morning Sir. I’m Bad Weave. Can I help you?” she says trying to push her Agbalumo sized breasts as far as they will go.
I swear. If I wasn’t so irritated I’d be laughing.
“It's alright Bad Weave, he’s here for me” I say before he can respond.
Bad Weave gives me a look that says “Die bitch. Must you have everything I want?"
Oh Honey! If only you knew.
“Alhaji, can I talk to you outside please?”
As we make our way out of the office, I can see the girls all lusting and the guys all hatin. If only he was single. I would have taken great joy in parading him up and down the office on a regular basis.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had to see you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
See this enemy of progress? Please don't think about me o. I don't know what kind of "Any girl you think of will go and meet her fore fathers" juju your wife has going on.
“Ok you need to stop this. For the last time, I DON’T DATE MARRIED MEN!”
“What if I told you the marriage was a mistake and I’m trying to get out of it? All I’m asking for is time. Just wait for me. Don’t start seeing anyone else. I don’t think I could bear to lose you.”
At this stage I had to look over my shoulder because I expected Basket Mouth or AY to jump out from behind a car and say “Mena welcome to my hilarious new candid camera show …Dey send you come?!”
Is this friggin joker for real?
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Well excuse me...
It’s that time of the month again…
Ah,ah! Ki lo de? We don’t really want to know now.
Shut it peasants! Wasn’t talking about the monthlies. Was talking about getting my hair done. Next time why don’t you let a girl finish before you jump in there all offended? Hissss....
As I was saying…it’s that time of the month when you look into the mirror and you know something just ain't right. Is it my eyebrows? Nope! Still plucked and brushed to perfection. My face in general? Please! Babe! You know there’s nothing wrong with your gorgeousness…mmmm
Na wa for this your own hotness Mena. Na only u? Lets even see you sef then we can judge for ourselves.
See who? Will you come on gerraway!
Nonsense! Fear no even catch you. You want to gaze upon my ethereal beauty just like that? Please don’t upset me today.
Where was I? Yeah, so after having done your beauty countdown you come to the conclusion that’s it’s got be the hair holding you back. I’ve had my weave for 3 weeks now and I’m starting to resemble bad weave girl (I rebuke it), who by the way has moved on from the weave to her own natural hair. You would think that’s got be better but it’s dyed an awful wine red color. Arrrgh!!!! My eyes! My eyes! I’ve been blinded by the sheer wrongness of it. How can you people expect me to work and thrive under these conditions? All I ask for is to be surrounded by equally (it will be hard sha) beautiful people. Not these rejects from the era style forgot.
So the question now is what to do? Been a weave girl since I arrived in good ol' Lagos and I need a change. Especially since I no longer have a bangin weave stylist. I need something that reflects my weird, sensuous and exciting personality.
Shuku ma fit e.
Waka... Please stop talking to me.
Sebi you want to be weird and wonderful ni? Don’t worry by the time that Shuku brings out the weird and wonderful features of your ogo and opon…Men! The boys will just be falling.
Ignoring you jealous haters. Shall turn to the Internet and my peeps for inspiration. Oh! That’s a nice one. Urban and sassy kinky fro. Will BB it to Speedy Gonzales for feedback.
I love my BB. It’s my little, black compact lover. It lets me talk, play music, surf the net for shoes and it vibrates too (Make of that what you will people). If only it could legally marry me. I would give up the hunt for Mr. Right. Unfortunately it’s just a machine and I need someone to pay for my boob reduction in the near future.
Ping!
Hooray! I got a ping.
Speedy Gonzales: What’s this?
Mena: Style I’m thinking of doing. U like?
Speedy Gonzales: Why are you always trying to channel Diana Ross or Wurzel Gummidge?
Mena: Whatcha talking about girl?
Speedy Gonzales: What’s with all the big hair? How the hell is someone supposed to find you under all that hair let alone decide if they fancy you? Speaking of fancying you, met some guy the other day that I think will be perfect for you.
Hmm…was going to end the convo after her rude remarks about my hair preferences. Diana Ross indeed. Is she blind? It’s definitely Erykah Badu at work. Anyway she said the magic words guy and perfect in one sentence.
Mena: Tell me more. What’s his name?
Speedy Gonzales: BB guy
Mena: He got a last name. Need to Google him to make sure he’s not on Americas most wanted or Interpol.
Speedy Gonzales: No. like I said just met him.
Mena: OK, so what does he do?
Speedy Gonzales: Don’t know but he’s cute
Mena: Ooook… How do you know he’s perfect for me?
Speedy Gonzales: Well he drives a bad ass mini and he’s single.
Mena: Errr…I’m sorry but is that all you’ve based your assessment on?
Speedy Gonzales: Look Miss Snooty pants. In this current single men shortage, that’s all you need for him to be perfect for you.
Mena: But…
Speedy Gonzales: Stop typing and let me finish. He has a bad ass car means he has a job and won’t be calling you between 1am and 5am in order to save credit. Also means he’s quirky, which you like and most importantly he’s single which means you won’t spend every date looking over your shoulder waiting for his Mrs. to jump out and slap you senseless.
Mena: But…
Speedy Gonzales: Stop typing damn it! I’ve given him your BB pin and when he BB’s, you will be charming, act normal and not discuss any of your many issues or personalities. And when you go on your first date you better not have any hammer house of horror hair on your head. I’m sick and tired of you moaning about being single and then when someone tries to help you get all Prima Donna. You better don’t mess this up. Now you can type.
Well excuse me for living. I ain’t typing nuthin. Too young to die in a fiery ball of BB insults. Fine! I will allow this virtual stranger into my BB world. I will go on a date and when he hacks me to pieces and uses his friggin “Quirky mini ” to dispose of my body off Third Mainland Bridge, she’ll be sorry. Bet she’ll wish I had my urban kinky Afro then, so it will be easy to identify my remains.
“Yes officer. It’s her. No one could carry an urban kinky Afro like she could” Sob.
Speedy Gonzales: Hey! You still there? You wanted to say something?
Mena: It’s OK. I’m good.
Speedy Gonzales: Sure?
Mena: Yes.
Speedy Gonzales: Cool. Get back to work then. Talk to you later.
Mena: Bye
Hahahahahahahahaha! Sepe Mena get master??
Sod off nincompoops!
Getting myself an Urban and sassy Afro even if it kills me and I don't care what she or her precious BB Guy think.
Ah,ah! Ki lo de? We don’t really want to know now.
Shut it peasants! Wasn’t talking about the monthlies. Was talking about getting my hair done. Next time why don’t you let a girl finish before you jump in there all offended? Hissss....
As I was saying…it’s that time of the month when you look into the mirror and you know something just ain't right. Is it my eyebrows? Nope! Still plucked and brushed to perfection. My face in general? Please! Babe! You know there’s nothing wrong with your gorgeousness…mmmm
Na wa for this your own hotness Mena. Na only u? Lets even see you sef then we can judge for ourselves.
See who? Will you come on gerraway!
Nonsense! Fear no even catch you. You want to gaze upon my ethereal beauty just like that? Please don’t upset me today.
Where was I? Yeah, so after having done your beauty countdown you come to the conclusion that’s it’s got be the hair holding you back. I’ve had my weave for 3 weeks now and I’m starting to resemble bad weave girl (I rebuke it), who by the way has moved on from the weave to her own natural hair. You would think that’s got be better but it’s dyed an awful wine red color. Arrrgh!!!! My eyes! My eyes! I’ve been blinded by the sheer wrongness of it. How can you people expect me to work and thrive under these conditions? All I ask for is to be surrounded by equally (it will be hard sha) beautiful people. Not these rejects from the era style forgot.
So the question now is what to do? Been a weave girl since I arrived in good ol' Lagos and I need a change. Especially since I no longer have a bangin weave stylist. I need something that reflects my weird, sensuous and exciting personality.
Shuku ma fit e.
Waka... Please stop talking to me.
Sebi you want to be weird and wonderful ni? Don’t worry by the time that Shuku brings out the weird and wonderful features of your ogo and opon…Men! The boys will just be falling.
Ignoring you jealous haters. Shall turn to the Internet and my peeps for inspiration. Oh! That’s a nice one. Urban and sassy kinky fro. Will BB it to Speedy Gonzales for feedback.
I love my BB. It’s my little, black compact lover. It lets me talk, play music, surf the net for shoes and it vibrates too (Make of that what you will people). If only it could legally marry me. I would give up the hunt for Mr. Right. Unfortunately it’s just a machine and I need someone to pay for my boob reduction in the near future.
Ping!
Hooray! I got a ping.
Speedy Gonzales: What’s this?
Mena: Style I’m thinking of doing. U like?
Speedy Gonzales: Why are you always trying to channel Diana Ross or Wurzel Gummidge?
Mena: Whatcha talking about girl?
Speedy Gonzales: What’s with all the big hair? How the hell is someone supposed to find you under all that hair let alone decide if they fancy you? Speaking of fancying you, met some guy the other day that I think will be perfect for you.
Hmm…was going to end the convo after her rude remarks about my hair preferences. Diana Ross indeed. Is she blind? It’s definitely Erykah Badu at work. Anyway she said the magic words guy and perfect in one sentence.
Mena: Tell me more. What’s his name?
Speedy Gonzales: BB guy
Mena: He got a last name. Need to Google him to make sure he’s not on Americas most wanted or Interpol.
Speedy Gonzales: No. like I said just met him.
Mena: OK, so what does he do?
Speedy Gonzales: Don’t know but he’s cute
Mena: Ooook… How do you know he’s perfect for me?
Speedy Gonzales: Well he drives a bad ass mini and he’s single.
Mena: Errr…I’m sorry but is that all you’ve based your assessment on?
Speedy Gonzales: Look Miss Snooty pants. In this current single men shortage, that’s all you need for him to be perfect for you.
Mena: But…
Speedy Gonzales: Stop typing and let me finish. He has a bad ass car means he has a job and won’t be calling you between 1am and 5am in order to save credit. Also means he’s quirky, which you like and most importantly he’s single which means you won’t spend every date looking over your shoulder waiting for his Mrs. to jump out and slap you senseless.
Mena: But…
Speedy Gonzales: Stop typing damn it! I’ve given him your BB pin and when he BB’s, you will be charming, act normal and not discuss any of your many issues or personalities. And when you go on your first date you better not have any hammer house of horror hair on your head. I’m sick and tired of you moaning about being single and then when someone tries to help you get all Prima Donna. You better don’t mess this up. Now you can type.
Well excuse me for living. I ain’t typing nuthin. Too young to die in a fiery ball of BB insults. Fine! I will allow this virtual stranger into my BB world. I will go on a date and when he hacks me to pieces and uses his friggin “Quirky mini ” to dispose of my body off Third Mainland Bridge, she’ll be sorry. Bet she’ll wish I had my urban kinky Afro then, so it will be easy to identify my remains.
“Yes officer. It’s her. No one could carry an urban kinky Afro like she could” Sob.
Speedy Gonzales: Hey! You still there? You wanted to say something?
Mena: It’s OK. I’m good.
Speedy Gonzales: Sure?
Mena: Yes.
Speedy Gonzales: Cool. Get back to work then. Talk to you later.
Mena: Bye
Hahahahahahahahaha! Sepe Mena get master??
Sod off nincompoops!
Getting myself an Urban and sassy Afro even if it kills me and I don't care what she or her precious BB Guy think.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Help! There's a Mad Cow behind the wheel.
Crazy "Can’t find her way out of a paper bag" Malu!
It’s been an hour of driving round in circles and now we don’t even know where the hell we are. This not my idea of a relaxing evening. I thought I’d have replaced 80% of my fluid content with Vodka(I know…Vodka is not my friend,but can you lot really blame me if I turn to drink?) by now and I”d be hitting on the bartender. I ain't happy. I should have known the words trendy, bar and mainland didn’t work in a sentence. There I was all excited about getting out of the house after my mothers little episode this morning...
Turns out shes a bit of a sharp shooter after all. After sitting in the burning sun for hours, she finally went back in the house and Lamidi and I breathed a sigh of relief. I jumped back into bed and prepared myself for sweet dreams about my new, might be conquest...The Alhaji(more about him later). Only to have Lamidi come knocking on my door 20 minutes later.
"Small madam, I beg come see ya mama."
Arrrgghhh!!!! Why does she hate me so much?
"What is it now Inspector Lamidi?"
"I no fit explain am. You need to come see for ya self."
Fine! I throw on my dressing gown and storm out of my bedroom. I'm about to give that woman a piece of my mind. I don't care if she never speaks to me again. I get outside and I see nothing. I turn to Lamidi with a puzzled look and he just points up at the tree. I look up and I don't see anything.
"Inspector what are you looking at? Where's my mother?"
Once again I look up and just as I'm about to ask him what the hell is wrong with him, I see a slight movement in the leaves. Sure enough, now dressed in khaki overalls, from God knows where, is my mother with her face covered in charcoal, sitting precariously on tree branch with her gun aimed at the nest. I know I should say something to try and get her down from there but to be honest, I no longer care.
"Inspector please bring the car round so that in case she falls you can make a quick dash to the hospital. I'm going back to sleep. Only wake me if she falls and you see blood or something, otherwise, please leave me alone."
To cut a long story short, she was out there till about 6pm when Annoying Married Chick arrived with her friend to pick me up. It was only just as we were leaving, that the stupid bird came back and got its head blown off. My mother is now at home doing her victory dance and I am stuck in the car with Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum.
“Look why don’t you just stop the car and ask for directions, instead of driving around burning up petrol?”
“En stop the car ke. Can’t u see area boys all over the place?” Says her friend.
“No we can’t stop here o. And I’ve told you to move the middle lane. It’s dangerous to be on this lane with the traffic. Anyone can try to get into the car.”
Get into which car? What is this one talking about? See me see trouble. All this people that want to kill me before I get me some opposite sex action.
“What do you mean get into the car?”
“That’s what they do in these areas. If you drive next to the pavement and you get caught in traffic, area boys try and get in the car to rob you.”
Lord have mercy! I immediately start to remove my Swarovski crystal earrings, my Toy watch and my mama’s gold bracelet, which I borrowed without asking. I shove them into my bra and pray my mother’s logic actually works. I knew I should have stayed at home and let her slather my aching ribs in Robb like she wanted. Now I’m about to be robbed and violated on a filthy Lagos street because of my “No know road” sister.
Hmmm…that rhymes. I have been robbed of my Robb…hehehe.
For Gods sake brain! Focus! I’m about to be murdered and you’re playing rhyming games.
“Ok, please move to the middle lane like your friend said and call your husband to find out how we get out of here.”
“U craze!”
See! She’s not as posh as she makes out.
“Call which husband? Se the one that's been BBing me Barry White Lyrics all day? God forbid. I had to tell him I was going to choir practice on the Island so I could avoid lampashing duties tonight. So not going to happen. How am I supposed to explain my sudden appearance in the middle of no where? I’d rather take my chances with the area boys than with Market Boy. Not to mention the fact that he will kill me if I scratch his car again. Both of you get a grip. We’ll be fine. No one is going to rob us and even if they tried, I’ll scream and they’ll run away.”
See? See why I don’t treat her like a normal human being? Does she think she is a banshee or why would her mere croaky screaming drive away hardened criminals? I’m seriously contemplating getting out of the car, giving the area boys my worldly possessions and a flash of boob in the hope that they will call me a red cab to take me away from all this.
“Okay can we at least get an Okada to take us back to the island?”
“How do we know he is not in league with armed robbers? 3 lost girls…he could take us to the middle of nowhere and rob us.” says the friend
Lord help me, If someone doesn't make a decision on how we get out of here in the next 3 seconds, I'm going to kill my own sister and her friend. Just as I'm wondering which one I should take out first, there's a loud banging on the roof of the car and and scary looking face appears at the window.
Annoying Married Chick also now known as Banshee from Warri starts screaming (I must say she does have a pretty good set of lungs on her). Her friend starts reciting Psalm 98 at the top of her voice and I immediately duck for cover and try to squeeze my fat ass under one of the car seats with little success. Damn my womanly curves. Unable to hide under the seat, I consider the option of making a run for it but what about my sister and her friend?
Sod them both I say. Hell! I've known my sister forever. We share the same DNA and all but I sure as hell ain't dying for her let alone some random friend who I don't know from Adam. Every woman for herself. Just as I am about to make a move...Why the evil cow! The friend has already beat me to it and has legged it out of the car. She was now running down the street, weaving in and out of traffic like a Christmas turkey who managed to escape. If I wasn't so pissed that she beat me to it, I'd be rather impressed with her ducking and diving running techniques to avoid any oncoming bullets.
Banshee Girl is still screaming. I clamber into the front seat, slam the door shut and lock it. I grab my sister by the shoulders, shake her and slap her a couple of times to get her to stop screaming and focus. Well, the first slap was to get her to focus. The 2 other hot slaps were for bringing me to this hellish part of town and for stealing my barbie hair slides when we were little(no one steals accessories from me and gets away it. I'll get you eventually).
"Stop screaming and drive the blinking car out of here woman. Drive, drive, drivvvvvvvvvvvveeeee!!!!"
Finally out of her scream induced vegetative state, Banshee girl becomes Get Away Driver girl and maneuvers her way into another lane,steps on the accelerator, weaving in and out traffic. Horns are blaring, other drivers are cursing but she doesn't care. She's gonna get her and her sister out of there alive. I don't know how she did it but somehow she made it out without even a scratch on the car and back into civilisation. My hero!
"Sis you were awesome. How they hell did you learn to drive like that?"
"Shut up. You think I don't know you were enjoyed slapping me?"
"Emi ke? No o. I did it to save our lives. Aren't you happy we are alive?"
"Whatever!"
"Hey! why are you stopping the car?"
"There's an empty red cab just there by the side of the road. If you run, you can catch it before it drives off. Either way I ain't heading back to the Island. All that fear and fast driving has got me in a lampashing mood and I'm going home to make Market Boy a very happy man. So you can either take the red cab or come home with me and sleep on the sofa but the walls are very thin so.... The choice is yours but I'd hurry if I were you cause the cab's starting to pull into traffic."
5 minutes later I'm sitting in the back of the red cab listening to the drivers best of Shina Peters CD compilation. I hate my life. Oh my God! Is that Annoying Married Chicks friend we just drove past running on Third mainland bridge? I guess I could go back and pick her up? What the hell...let her run. Serves her right for abandoning our fine asses to the mercy of area boys.
Life might not be so bad after all.
It’s been an hour of driving round in circles and now we don’t even know where the hell we are. This not my idea of a relaxing evening. I thought I’d have replaced 80% of my fluid content with Vodka(I know…Vodka is not my friend,but can you lot really blame me if I turn to drink?) by now and I”d be hitting on the bartender. I ain't happy. I should have known the words trendy, bar and mainland didn’t work in a sentence. There I was all excited about getting out of the house after my mothers little episode this morning...
Turns out shes a bit of a sharp shooter after all. After sitting in the burning sun for hours, she finally went back in the house and Lamidi and I breathed a sigh of relief. I jumped back into bed and prepared myself for sweet dreams about my new, might be conquest...The Alhaji(more about him later). Only to have Lamidi come knocking on my door 20 minutes later.
"Small madam, I beg come see ya mama."
Arrrgghhh!!!! Why does she hate me so much?
"What is it now Inspector Lamidi?"
"I no fit explain am. You need to come see for ya self."
Fine! I throw on my dressing gown and storm out of my bedroom. I'm about to give that woman a piece of my mind. I don't care if she never speaks to me again. I get outside and I see nothing. I turn to Lamidi with a puzzled look and he just points up at the tree. I look up and I don't see anything.
"Inspector what are you looking at? Where's my mother?"
Once again I look up and just as I'm about to ask him what the hell is wrong with him, I see a slight movement in the leaves. Sure enough, now dressed in khaki overalls, from God knows where, is my mother with her face covered in charcoal, sitting precariously on tree branch with her gun aimed at the nest. I know I should say something to try and get her down from there but to be honest, I no longer care.
"Inspector please bring the car round so that in case she falls you can make a quick dash to the hospital. I'm going back to sleep. Only wake me if she falls and you see blood or something, otherwise, please leave me alone."
To cut a long story short, she was out there till about 6pm when Annoying Married Chick arrived with her friend to pick me up. It was only just as we were leaving, that the stupid bird came back and got its head blown off. My mother is now at home doing her victory dance and I am stuck in the car with Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum.
“Look why don’t you just stop the car and ask for directions, instead of driving around burning up petrol?”
“En stop the car ke. Can’t u see area boys all over the place?” Says her friend.
“No we can’t stop here o. And I’ve told you to move the middle lane. It’s dangerous to be on this lane with the traffic. Anyone can try to get into the car.”
Get into which car? What is this one talking about? See me see trouble. All this people that want to kill me before I get me some opposite sex action.
“What do you mean get into the car?”
“That’s what they do in these areas. If you drive next to the pavement and you get caught in traffic, area boys try and get in the car to rob you.”
Lord have mercy! I immediately start to remove my Swarovski crystal earrings, my Toy watch and my mama’s gold bracelet, which I borrowed without asking. I shove them into my bra and pray my mother’s logic actually works. I knew I should have stayed at home and let her slather my aching ribs in Robb like she wanted. Now I’m about to be robbed and violated on a filthy Lagos street because of my “No know road” sister.
Hmmm…that rhymes. I have been robbed of my Robb…hehehe.
For Gods sake brain! Focus! I’m about to be murdered and you’re playing rhyming games.
“Ok, please move to the middle lane like your friend said and call your husband to find out how we get out of here.”
“U craze!”
See! She’s not as posh as she makes out.
“Call which husband? Se the one that's been BBing me Barry White Lyrics all day? God forbid. I had to tell him I was going to choir practice on the Island so I could avoid lampashing duties tonight. So not going to happen. How am I supposed to explain my sudden appearance in the middle of no where? I’d rather take my chances with the area boys than with Market Boy. Not to mention the fact that he will kill me if I scratch his car again. Both of you get a grip. We’ll be fine. No one is going to rob us and even if they tried, I’ll scream and they’ll run away.”
See? See why I don’t treat her like a normal human being? Does she think she is a banshee or why would her mere croaky screaming drive away hardened criminals? I’m seriously contemplating getting out of the car, giving the area boys my worldly possessions and a flash of boob in the hope that they will call me a red cab to take me away from all this.
“Okay can we at least get an Okada to take us back to the island?”
“How do we know he is not in league with armed robbers? 3 lost girls…he could take us to the middle of nowhere and rob us.” says the friend
Lord help me, If someone doesn't make a decision on how we get out of here in the next 3 seconds, I'm going to kill my own sister and her friend. Just as I'm wondering which one I should take out first, there's a loud banging on the roof of the car and and scary looking face appears at the window.
Annoying Married Chick also now known as Banshee from Warri starts screaming (I must say she does have a pretty good set of lungs on her). Her friend starts reciting Psalm 98 at the top of her voice and I immediately duck for cover and try to squeeze my fat ass under one of the car seats with little success. Damn my womanly curves. Unable to hide under the seat, I consider the option of making a run for it but what about my sister and her friend?
Sod them both I say. Hell! I've known my sister forever. We share the same DNA and all but I sure as hell ain't dying for her let alone some random friend who I don't know from Adam. Every woman for herself. Just as I am about to make a move...Why the evil cow! The friend has already beat me to it and has legged it out of the car. She was now running down the street, weaving in and out of traffic like a Christmas turkey who managed to escape. If I wasn't so pissed that she beat me to it, I'd be rather impressed with her ducking and diving running techniques to avoid any oncoming bullets.
Banshee Girl is still screaming. I clamber into the front seat, slam the door shut and lock it. I grab my sister by the shoulders, shake her and slap her a couple of times to get her to stop screaming and focus. Well, the first slap was to get her to focus. The 2 other hot slaps were for bringing me to this hellish part of town and for stealing my barbie hair slides when we were little(no one steals accessories from me and gets away it. I'll get you eventually).
"Stop screaming and drive the blinking car out of here woman. Drive, drive, drivvvvvvvvvvvveeeee!!!!"
Finally out of her scream induced vegetative state, Banshee girl becomes Get Away Driver girl and maneuvers her way into another lane,steps on the accelerator, weaving in and out traffic. Horns are blaring, other drivers are cursing but she doesn't care. She's gonna get her and her sister out of there alive. I don't know how she did it but somehow she made it out without even a scratch on the car and back into civilisation. My hero!
"Sis you were awesome. How they hell did you learn to drive like that?"
"Shut up. You think I don't know you were enjoyed slapping me?"
"Emi ke? No o. I did it to save our lives. Aren't you happy we are alive?"
"Whatever!"
"Hey! why are you stopping the car?"
"There's an empty red cab just there by the side of the road. If you run, you can catch it before it drives off. Either way I ain't heading back to the Island. All that fear and fast driving has got me in a lampashing mood and I'm going home to make Market Boy a very happy man. So you can either take the red cab or come home with me and sleep on the sofa but the walls are very thin so.... The choice is yours but I'd hurry if I were you cause the cab's starting to pull into traffic."
5 minutes later I'm sitting in the back of the red cab listening to the drivers best of Shina Peters CD compilation. I hate my life. Oh my God! Is that Annoying Married Chicks friend we just drove past running on Third mainland bridge? I guess I could go back and pick her up? What the hell...let her run. Serves her right for abandoning our fine asses to the mercy of area boys.
Life might not be so bad after all.
Mums, Minions & Machineguns
Ow! My aching head.
Vodka is not my friend. But I had to find some way of blocking out my Body Wowo trauma. To make matters worse, I was woken up by machine gun fire outside my bedroom window this morning. I did a drop and roll out of my bed(Thank you Shaft movies) and cowered behind the curtains. This is it. The fashion mafia had finally gotten wind of my awesome accessory collection and were here to rob me before shooting off my knee caps for being so trendy. Oh Lord why am I cursed with such good taste? My stylishness has become a hinderance leading to my demise. Boo hoo! I want to live. Let me live!
It seems to have stopped. Maybe they spotted my mothers atrocious curtains and figured they'd got the wrong house. Hmm..might just have time to hide my diamond earrings in my tampax box(another trick from mummy dearest. Apparently armed robbers don't do feminine products either) before my neighbours point them back in my direction. Still quiet. I'll just peep out the window and see what's going on. What the ...
Outside my window was my mother in her bed time bubu with a semiautomatic weapon.
“Mother what the hell are you doing?”
She swings round, semi automatic pointing straight at me. She better not shoot my nose. That's the most exotic looking part of me.
“Mena are you crazy. How many times have I told you not to shout at me when I am carrying a semi automatic machine gun?”
Er...Never you crazy old woman. What are you? Rambo's grandmother?
“Mummy what are you doing shooting a machine gun at 7am in the morning? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Inspector Lamidi why did you give her your gun?”
“She say she go send me to Makurdi like the 2 other MOPO's that go last week.”
Ah! Those 2. It took 2 Mopo's and a pair of gardening shears to get me out of that infernal Body Wowo contraption last week. Unfortunately for the MOPO’s, having seen all my worldly assets in the process of freeing me, they have now been redeployed to rural Markaurdi. My mother says it’s too dangerous to leave them here. That they might talk about seeing my womanly areas to mere commoners and she just couldn’t let that happen. Apparently, it would be over her dead body that the whole of Lagos would hear that a man other than my husband had seen me naked. If only the poor woman knew that was a battle long lost; But she had a mad “Bury the bodies in the boys quarters” look in her eye so I kept my mouth shut. Probably a good thing I did, considering the fact that she's now totally lost it.
“Mummy please, stop pointing the gun in my direction and tell me what you are doing.”
"Its that stupid bird up there that keeps chirping at ungodly hours and looking into my window. I don't think its a real bird. It looks like your father's sister.”
Oookkk. Aro here we come.
“Mum! Its a bird. It's nest just happens to be level with your window.”
"Stop talking to me like a 5 year old. I'm not your mate. I know a real bird when I see one. I'm your mother and you will show me respect and support me at all times.”
“So what are you saying Mummy? That you think the bird is Aunty Rafiatu?”
“Don't be stupid. Am I crazy? Why would I think the bird was your Aunty... Hisss”
That's a relief. I have enough issues in my life without my mother going round claiming to be the next Dr.Dolittle.
“No! The bird is obviously your Aunt's minion, come to spy on us. It would explain how she knew when to come over to beg for money from your Dad when I wasn't at home. And why she was wearing the same lace as me at that wedding last week. She can see everything that's going on here. So today na today. I will kill that evil bird and if your Aunty croaks in the process, so be it. Next time she will choose her adversaries wisely.”
Oh Lord. Why do these things happen to me?
“Ok Mum, you're probably right but spraying bullets is not the way to solve the problem. All you need to do is move the nest and the bird won't come back ok? So please give Inspector Lamidi the gun and he'll climb up tree and move the nest.
Inspector Lamidi gives me a look that says "I aint climbing up no tree to move no devil bird's nest. You and your crazy mama can kiss my fine khaki covered behind."
“We are not moving anything. I have to kill it. Lamidi go and bring me a chair, a can of Red bull and my City people magazine. It's me and your Aunty today.”
“So you're just going to sit out here all day Mum?”
“Yes. I am protecting my family. You will thank me later.”
“I’m going to call Dad!”
“Good. Tell him to come and talk to his sister and her fine feathered friend. I will be sitting here waiting for them.”
Yeah right. I'm going back to bed jo before she talks me into shooting down defenceless pigeons that look like other members of my family. My life sucks. Just as I'm considering the option of divorcing my parents and getting a new last name, my phone rings....its Annoying Married Chick.
“Hehehehe have you been on face book today?”
“No why? Anyway forget that we have slightly more serious issu…”
“ Wait! Let me finish. It’s too funny. Someone has posted a video of some woman passed out, on the floor in her underwear or something and 2 policemen are trying to cut her out of it.”
Face book ke! No it can’t be me. It must be some other poor sap that has access to MOPO’s and a crazy mother who supplies her with deadly underwear.
“Are u listening? Then some crazy woman rushes in and starts screaming at them to cut the girl out with their eyes closed. That no one should look at her daughters mystical areas. I think that was the best bit.
Ah! My own don finish for Eko. Those evil bastards must have filmed me on their phones or something when Mum wasn't looking. To think I felt sorry for their Markaudi bound asses. All my enemies and ex boyfriends will be dying of laughter by now at the sight of me lying on the floor like a beached whale. I need to get my ass on the first flight out of here. Might just have enough time to pack my shoes and make the BA flight tonight.
"I swear, if I didn’t know any better I could have sworn it was Mum but the picture is so grainy you can't really see any features.”
Phew! Thank you Jesus. I promise from now on I will pay my tithes in full and not try to pull a fast one by deducting unanswered prayers tax like I usually do.
“Hey are you there?”
"Yeah! Sorry it’s just been a long morning. I really need a drink. Anyway, you need to get over here and deal with your crazy mother for a change.”
“Why? What's she doing now? You know what, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. This is why I got my ass married and moved as far away as possible. I suggest you get your ass in gear and do the same.Why don’t you come out with me and my friend? We are heading to some trendy new bar on the mainland everyone’s been raving about. I’ll swing by and pick you up later."
"Cool. See ya later.”
Don’t be shocked people. We are sisters after all and we do occasionally have conversations where she doesn’t hang up on me and I don’t call her “Crazy Malu”. We do love each other really. Anyway It's a weekend and I refuse to let my gun toting mother ruin my day. I will have a nice long nap and make myself all hot for my night out with the girls.
Oh gee! Not gun fire again. What does a girl have to do to get some sleep around here?
Vodka is not my friend. But I had to find some way of blocking out my Body Wowo trauma. To make matters worse, I was woken up by machine gun fire outside my bedroom window this morning. I did a drop and roll out of my bed(Thank you Shaft movies) and cowered behind the curtains. This is it. The fashion mafia had finally gotten wind of my awesome accessory collection and were here to rob me before shooting off my knee caps for being so trendy. Oh Lord why am I cursed with such good taste? My stylishness has become a hinderance leading to my demise. Boo hoo! I want to live. Let me live!
It seems to have stopped. Maybe they spotted my mothers atrocious curtains and figured they'd got the wrong house. Hmm..might just have time to hide my diamond earrings in my tampax box(another trick from mummy dearest. Apparently armed robbers don't do feminine products either) before my neighbours point them back in my direction. Still quiet. I'll just peep out the window and see what's going on. What the ...
Outside my window was my mother in her bed time bubu with a semiautomatic weapon.
“Mother what the hell are you doing?”
She swings round, semi automatic pointing straight at me. She better not shoot my nose. That's the most exotic looking part of me.
“Mena are you crazy. How many times have I told you not to shout at me when I am carrying a semi automatic machine gun?”
Er...Never you crazy old woman. What are you? Rambo's grandmother?
“Mummy what are you doing shooting a machine gun at 7am in the morning? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Inspector Lamidi why did you give her your gun?”
“She say she go send me to Makurdi like the 2 other MOPO's that go last week.”
Ah! Those 2. It took 2 Mopo's and a pair of gardening shears to get me out of that infernal Body Wowo contraption last week. Unfortunately for the MOPO’s, having seen all my worldly assets in the process of freeing me, they have now been redeployed to rural Markaurdi. My mother says it’s too dangerous to leave them here. That they might talk about seeing my womanly areas to mere commoners and she just couldn’t let that happen. Apparently, it would be over her dead body that the whole of Lagos would hear that a man other than my husband had seen me naked. If only the poor woman knew that was a battle long lost; But she had a mad “Bury the bodies in the boys quarters” look in her eye so I kept my mouth shut. Probably a good thing I did, considering the fact that she's now totally lost it.
“Mummy please, stop pointing the gun in my direction and tell me what you are doing.”
"Its that stupid bird up there that keeps chirping at ungodly hours and looking into my window. I don't think its a real bird. It looks like your father's sister.”
Oookkk. Aro here we come.
“Mum! Its a bird. It's nest just happens to be level with your window.”
"Stop talking to me like a 5 year old. I'm not your mate. I know a real bird when I see one. I'm your mother and you will show me respect and support me at all times.”
“So what are you saying Mummy? That you think the bird is Aunty Rafiatu?”
“Don't be stupid. Am I crazy? Why would I think the bird was your Aunty... Hisss”
That's a relief. I have enough issues in my life without my mother going round claiming to be the next Dr.Dolittle.
“No! The bird is obviously your Aunt's minion, come to spy on us. It would explain how she knew when to come over to beg for money from your Dad when I wasn't at home. And why she was wearing the same lace as me at that wedding last week. She can see everything that's going on here. So today na today. I will kill that evil bird and if your Aunty croaks in the process, so be it. Next time she will choose her adversaries wisely.”
Oh Lord. Why do these things happen to me?
“Ok Mum, you're probably right but spraying bullets is not the way to solve the problem. All you need to do is move the nest and the bird won't come back ok? So please give Inspector Lamidi the gun and he'll climb up tree and move the nest.
Inspector Lamidi gives me a look that says "I aint climbing up no tree to move no devil bird's nest. You and your crazy mama can kiss my fine khaki covered behind."
“We are not moving anything. I have to kill it. Lamidi go and bring me a chair, a can of Red bull and my City people magazine. It's me and your Aunty today.”
“So you're just going to sit out here all day Mum?”
“Yes. I am protecting my family. You will thank me later.”
“I’m going to call Dad!”
“Good. Tell him to come and talk to his sister and her fine feathered friend. I will be sitting here waiting for them.”
Yeah right. I'm going back to bed jo before she talks me into shooting down defenceless pigeons that look like other members of my family. My life sucks. Just as I'm considering the option of divorcing my parents and getting a new last name, my phone rings....its Annoying Married Chick.
“Hehehehe have you been on face book today?”
“No why? Anyway forget that we have slightly more serious issu…”
“ Wait! Let me finish. It’s too funny. Someone has posted a video of some woman passed out, on the floor in her underwear or something and 2 policemen are trying to cut her out of it.”
Face book ke! No it can’t be me. It must be some other poor sap that has access to MOPO’s and a crazy mother who supplies her with deadly underwear.
“Are u listening? Then some crazy woman rushes in and starts screaming at them to cut the girl out with their eyes closed. That no one should look at her daughters mystical areas. I think that was the best bit.
Ah! My own don finish for Eko. Those evil bastards must have filmed me on their phones or something when Mum wasn't looking. To think I felt sorry for their Markaudi bound asses. All my enemies and ex boyfriends will be dying of laughter by now at the sight of me lying on the floor like a beached whale. I need to get my ass on the first flight out of here. Might just have enough time to pack my shoes and make the BA flight tonight.
"I swear, if I didn’t know any better I could have sworn it was Mum but the picture is so grainy you can't really see any features.”
Phew! Thank you Jesus. I promise from now on I will pay my tithes in full and not try to pull a fast one by deducting unanswered prayers tax like I usually do.
“Hey are you there?”
"Yeah! Sorry it’s just been a long morning. I really need a drink. Anyway, you need to get over here and deal with your crazy mother for a change.”
“Why? What's she doing now? You know what, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. This is why I got my ass married and moved as far away as possible. I suggest you get your ass in gear and do the same.Why don’t you come out with me and my friend? We are heading to some trendy new bar on the mainland everyone’s been raving about. I’ll swing by and pick you up later."
"Cool. See ya later.”
Don’t be shocked people. We are sisters after all and we do occasionally have conversations where she doesn’t hang up on me and I don’t call her “Crazy Malu”. We do love each other really. Anyway It's a weekend and I refuse to let my gun toting mother ruin my day. I will have a nice long nap and make myself all hot for my night out with the girls.
Oh gee! Not gun fire again. What does a girl have to do to get some sleep around here?
Alhaji! Alhaji!
Lord why am I here? I hate conferences.
Er... You insisted that you be the one to attend.
That’s only because the said it would be filled with bankers and top notch people from the financial sector. I thought it with would be a hotties with money fest, but so far all I’m getting is pot bellied accountants in badly fitting suits. I’m bored. I have no interest in the money market or mobile money. All I’m interested in is having enough money for shoes, Vodka and the occasional boob job in Brazil when everything starts to head south. Oh well, at least it’s almost lunch time and I can finally attack the buffet. That’s the only high point of attending these loser conferences. The free food.
Yum. Having decided that there is no one to impress at this waste of my Friday afternoon, I have decided to throw caution to the wind and eat like there is no tomorrow. My plate resembles a mini leaning tower of Pisa and I will probably never be invited to another conference at Eko hotel again seeing as I almost caused a riot by taking all the crispy fried shrimp. I also have a chicken thigh and some éclairs, wrapped in tissue hidden in my handbag incase I get peckish during the afternoon round of torture. I found myself a nice little corner to sit and happily devoured my lunch. I was busy licking my fingers (I said I was hot. I never said I was a lady) when I hear a voice behind me say “Hi”
Damn! I was mid lick and not in the mood to be disturbed. My mother refuses to buy shrimp in the house, due to the astronomical prices, let alone fry them in a yummy crispy coating, so I refuse to let anyone spoil my groove. But it could be a client and it wouldn’t do to have word get back to the boss about my behavior so far. So I wipe my fingers and turn round reluctantly to return the greeting
Huba, huba…who let you out of modeling school and put you in a bad ass suit? Oh Lord! Please let him be a potential client. It would so improve my work ethic. I would work on his account overtime, weekends, public holidays and would carry around emergency pyjamas in case sleep over work is required.
“Hello”
“I’m … (Lets call him the Alhaji cause he has a Muslim name) and I just noticed you sitting here all by yourself and I thought I’d come over to keep you company.”
Hot and caring. We should just skip the pleasantries and find an empty broom cupboard to get better acquainted in. We can discuss marriage later.
“That’s nice of you. I’m Mena. I’m an Account Manager at “Wish you I had a better job” Ltd.”
“Nice to meet you Mena. I’m Head of Credit Facilities at “I get paid mega bucks and have a yearly bonus that would blow your mind” Ltd.” He says handing me his card.
Oh my God! I think I’m about to start hyperventilating. Hot, Platinum bank account and mega cool job title. I want him. Now! I can already imagine introducing myself as Mrs.Alhaji, the wife of the mega hot hottie with money. My own don better.
You better not mess this up Mena.
Don’t worry brain. Just leave this to Mama
We spend the next 20 minutes talking and as he gets up to leave he asks if he can call me outside office hours. It takes every ounce of self control I’ve got to stop myself from getting up to do the “I’m bad” shuffle. Yep! I still got it. Mena’s sultry seductive vibes are still working. It’s all in the hair toss and girly giggle ladies. Learn from me. The rest of the conference goes by in a heart beat as I am no longer listening to anything anyone is saying. I’ll deal with the fall out when I get back to the office. Instead I am busy goggling him on my blackberry.
Hmmm…not a lot of info about him. Ok, not good but no need to panic. He’s on face book but I can’t see all the juicy stuff without becoming his friend. I think it might be a bit stalkerish if I send a friend request now. So I will be patient and send a bb message to everyone I know to find out some info for me. So all in all the day hasn’t been a total bust.
Ring damn you! Ring. It’s been 5 hours and he hasn’t called. He said he would call me later. It’s later by my book and the phone ain't ringing. Lying bastard. I ought to stomp over to his office right now and demand an explanation.
Mena…breathe. Remember what the therapist said about the need to suppress your stalking tendencies.
It’s not my fault brain. They all make it so hard.
Riiiiinnnggg
Could it be? Hooorayyyy.
"Jesus loves me this I know. For the bible tells me so…"
Are you going to pick up the phone?
Calm down brain. Let’s not act desperate.
Crazy woman.
I heard that.
4th ring. Ok now we can pick it up
5 minutes later and all is well with the world. I have a date with Alhaji on Monday and sometime in the near future I might just be able to move out of this asylum. We’ll have to keep it on the down low though, so Crazy Mama doesn’t find out. Now…what to wear.
Is it Monday yet?
No its Saturday.
Is it Monday yet?
No dumbo. It's Sunday!
Is it Monday yet? Yes it is! Hooray!
"The sun has got his hat on, hip-hip-hip-hooray
The sun has got his hat on and he’s coming out today
Now we’ll all be happy, hip-hip-hip-hooray
The sun has got his hat on and he’s coming out today"
I’m so excited. He’s picking me up from work so my outfit has to be work appropriate but sexy. Shoes…killer heels. Make up…subtle but sultry. Underwear…OK, lets not be a total whore. It’s only the first date. I shall repeat my first date mantra all day to get myself in the right frame of my mind. “I shall not vacate my knickers. I shall not vacate my knickers.”
That clock can’t be right it’s almost 5 o’clock and Grumpy is still talking. Damn these weekly review meetings. Why can’t we just have them in the morning like all our other crappy meetings? He’s picking me up in an hour and I’m going to need that long to redo my make, readjust my boobies and get my hair into that tousled Beyonce look. Sod this; I’m getting out of here.
"Sir!" I say pushing my chair back and standing up.
"Yes Ms.Mena?"
"Sir I’ve got my monthlies and I have really bad cramps. I need to leave now please."
The room goes silent and I think Boli Lover just lost all lustful intentions towards me. Like I care. I’ll deal with the consequences of putting my monthly cycle out there when I become Mrs.Alhaji. But that ain’t gonna happen if I’m stuck here with these losers.
"Erm.Well. Erm...This is highly irregular but, ok, please do what you have to do. You are excused."
See you later office crazies. Mena’s off to get her future hubby.
He’s here and if it’s possible he looks even hotter than last time. “I shall not vacate my knickers.”
He smells good, Joes playing softly in the car and I’ve just noticed he’s got the sexiest little gap in his teeth.
We shall not vacate our knickers.
Shut it brain. Under the circumstances I’m sure everyone would understand if I somehow lost my knickers between now and the time I get home.
We end up at a lovely bar and I swear people, I’m tingling all over. I’m busy listening to his dreamy voice when a little thought pops in my head and before I can stop myself, I interrupt him by asking
“Are you married?”
He looks at me and the silence is a bit too long for my liking. I’m starting to get a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach and Mena doesn’t like it.
“Would it matter if I was?”
Hold up! Wait a minute…Alhajjiiiiii! Na English you just talk or is that some new street slang way of saying “Hell no! I ain’t married”?
“No duh! Of course it would matter if you were married.”
“Really? Are you married?” he asks
“We’re on a date. Why would I be out on date with you if I was married?”
“Welllll…OK, I am married.”
If I wasn’t enjoying my Bloody Mary so much, I would have thrown it on him. But I ain’t wasting a perfectly good cocktail on this cheating bastard.
“So why ask me out if you’re married?”
“I saw you and there was just something about you. I was drawn to you.”
Drawn to me my ass. I suggest you start focusing your magnetic pull on your missus at home. I swear if I wasn’t wearing 5 inch heels,which I can barely walk in, I would have stormed out of here.
“Look I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on you. I really think we could have something here and I’m not a player or anything. I’m looking for something serious. Maybe even marriage.”
Ma wetin?? See me see trouble. Alhaji, Alhaji wants to make me iyawo kekere. Wife number 2? Not in this life time sugar. I haven’t waited this long for a man so I could share bedroom privileges with Alhaja.
“That’s very nice. That you’re so attracted to me but I think its time you took me home.”
“So you really don’t think we can be friends?”
“Oh we can be friends alright. You know, the kind that you only speak to once a year at Christmas.”
“I think you’re being a little hard on me. Just think about it and who knows, you might find it in your heart to give me a chance. I think I can make you happy.”
So true. You probably could have made me happy with your hot body and your many, many credit cards. Alas! It was not meant to be.Take me home sweet talker, so I can go sob my eyes out.
I am soooooooooooooo tired of this. OK! Listen up guys…
PLEASE DO NOT ASK ME OUT IF YOU ARE MARRIED, ENGAGED, DATING OR EVEN CONSIDERING ANOTHER WOMAN!!!
Mena will no longer stand for it and will fully utilize her MOPO’s to ensure that all culprits will never be able to make "Happy" again. I have spoken. Now leave me alone. I need a good cry before I head back to the drawing board.
Er... You insisted that you be the one to attend.
That’s only because the said it would be filled with bankers and top notch people from the financial sector. I thought it with would be a hotties with money fest, but so far all I’m getting is pot bellied accountants in badly fitting suits. I’m bored. I have no interest in the money market or mobile money. All I’m interested in is having enough money for shoes, Vodka and the occasional boob job in Brazil when everything starts to head south. Oh well, at least it’s almost lunch time and I can finally attack the buffet. That’s the only high point of attending these loser conferences. The free food.
Yum. Having decided that there is no one to impress at this waste of my Friday afternoon, I have decided to throw caution to the wind and eat like there is no tomorrow. My plate resembles a mini leaning tower of Pisa and I will probably never be invited to another conference at Eko hotel again seeing as I almost caused a riot by taking all the crispy fried shrimp. I also have a chicken thigh and some éclairs, wrapped in tissue hidden in my handbag incase I get peckish during the afternoon round of torture. I found myself a nice little corner to sit and happily devoured my lunch. I was busy licking my fingers (I said I was hot. I never said I was a lady) when I hear a voice behind me say “Hi”
Damn! I was mid lick and not in the mood to be disturbed. My mother refuses to buy shrimp in the house, due to the astronomical prices, let alone fry them in a yummy crispy coating, so I refuse to let anyone spoil my groove. But it could be a client and it wouldn’t do to have word get back to the boss about my behavior so far. So I wipe my fingers and turn round reluctantly to return the greeting
Huba, huba…who let you out of modeling school and put you in a bad ass suit? Oh Lord! Please let him be a potential client. It would so improve my work ethic. I would work on his account overtime, weekends, public holidays and would carry around emergency pyjamas in case sleep over work is required.
“Hello”
“I’m … (Lets call him the Alhaji cause he has a Muslim name) and I just noticed you sitting here all by yourself and I thought I’d come over to keep you company.”
Hot and caring. We should just skip the pleasantries and find an empty broom cupboard to get better acquainted in. We can discuss marriage later.
“That’s nice of you. I’m Mena. I’m an Account Manager at “Wish you I had a better job” Ltd.”
“Nice to meet you Mena. I’m Head of Credit Facilities at “I get paid mega bucks and have a yearly bonus that would blow your mind” Ltd.” He says handing me his card.
Oh my God! I think I’m about to start hyperventilating. Hot, Platinum bank account and mega cool job title. I want him. Now! I can already imagine introducing myself as Mrs.Alhaji, the wife of the mega hot hottie with money. My own don better.
You better not mess this up Mena.
Don’t worry brain. Just leave this to Mama
We spend the next 20 minutes talking and as he gets up to leave he asks if he can call me outside office hours. It takes every ounce of self control I’ve got to stop myself from getting up to do the “I’m bad” shuffle. Yep! I still got it. Mena’s sultry seductive vibes are still working. It’s all in the hair toss and girly giggle ladies. Learn from me. The rest of the conference goes by in a heart beat as I am no longer listening to anything anyone is saying. I’ll deal with the fall out when I get back to the office. Instead I am busy goggling him on my blackberry.
Hmmm…not a lot of info about him. Ok, not good but no need to panic. He’s on face book but I can’t see all the juicy stuff without becoming his friend. I think it might be a bit stalkerish if I send a friend request now. So I will be patient and send a bb message to everyone I know to find out some info for me. So all in all the day hasn’t been a total bust.
Ring damn you! Ring. It’s been 5 hours and he hasn’t called. He said he would call me later. It’s later by my book and the phone ain't ringing. Lying bastard. I ought to stomp over to his office right now and demand an explanation.
Mena…breathe. Remember what the therapist said about the need to suppress your stalking tendencies.
It’s not my fault brain. They all make it so hard.
Riiiiinnnggg
Could it be? Hooorayyyy.
"Jesus loves me this I know. For the bible tells me so…"
Are you going to pick up the phone?
Calm down brain. Let’s not act desperate.
Crazy woman.
I heard that.
4th ring. Ok now we can pick it up
5 minutes later and all is well with the world. I have a date with Alhaji on Monday and sometime in the near future I might just be able to move out of this asylum. We’ll have to keep it on the down low though, so Crazy Mama doesn’t find out. Now…what to wear.
Is it Monday yet?
No its Saturday.
Is it Monday yet?
No dumbo. It's Sunday!
Is it Monday yet? Yes it is! Hooray!
"The sun has got his hat on, hip-hip-hip-hooray
The sun has got his hat on and he’s coming out today
Now we’ll all be happy, hip-hip-hip-hooray
The sun has got his hat on and he’s coming out today"
I’m so excited. He’s picking me up from work so my outfit has to be work appropriate but sexy. Shoes…killer heels. Make up…subtle but sultry. Underwear…OK, lets not be a total whore. It’s only the first date. I shall repeat my first date mantra all day to get myself in the right frame of my mind. “I shall not vacate my knickers. I shall not vacate my knickers.”
That clock can’t be right it’s almost 5 o’clock and Grumpy is still talking. Damn these weekly review meetings. Why can’t we just have them in the morning like all our other crappy meetings? He’s picking me up in an hour and I’m going to need that long to redo my make, readjust my boobies and get my hair into that tousled Beyonce look. Sod this; I’m getting out of here.
"Sir!" I say pushing my chair back and standing up.
"Yes Ms.Mena?"
"Sir I’ve got my monthlies and I have really bad cramps. I need to leave now please."
The room goes silent and I think Boli Lover just lost all lustful intentions towards me. Like I care. I’ll deal with the consequences of putting my monthly cycle out there when I become Mrs.Alhaji. But that ain’t gonna happen if I’m stuck here with these losers.
"Erm.Well. Erm...This is highly irregular but, ok, please do what you have to do. You are excused."
See you later office crazies. Mena’s off to get her future hubby.
He’s here and if it’s possible he looks even hotter than last time. “I shall not vacate my knickers.”
He smells good, Joes playing softly in the car and I’ve just noticed he’s got the sexiest little gap in his teeth.
We shall not vacate our knickers.
Shut it brain. Under the circumstances I’m sure everyone would understand if I somehow lost my knickers between now and the time I get home.
We end up at a lovely bar and I swear people, I’m tingling all over. I’m busy listening to his dreamy voice when a little thought pops in my head and before I can stop myself, I interrupt him by asking
“Are you married?”
He looks at me and the silence is a bit too long for my liking. I’m starting to get a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach and Mena doesn’t like it.
“Would it matter if I was?”
Hold up! Wait a minute…Alhajjiiiiii! Na English you just talk or is that some new street slang way of saying “Hell no! I ain’t married”?
“No duh! Of course it would matter if you were married.”
“Really? Are you married?” he asks
“We’re on a date. Why would I be out on date with you if I was married?”
“Welllll…OK, I am married.”
If I wasn’t enjoying my Bloody Mary so much, I would have thrown it on him. But I ain’t wasting a perfectly good cocktail on this cheating bastard.
“So why ask me out if you’re married?”
“I saw you and there was just something about you. I was drawn to you.”
Drawn to me my ass. I suggest you start focusing your magnetic pull on your missus at home. I swear if I wasn’t wearing 5 inch heels,which I can barely walk in, I would have stormed out of here.
“Look I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on you. I really think we could have something here and I’m not a player or anything. I’m looking for something serious. Maybe even marriage.”
Ma wetin?? See me see trouble. Alhaji, Alhaji wants to make me iyawo kekere. Wife number 2? Not in this life time sugar. I haven’t waited this long for a man so I could share bedroom privileges with Alhaja.
“That’s very nice. That you’re so attracted to me but I think its time you took me home.”
“So you really don’t think we can be friends?”
“Oh we can be friends alright. You know, the kind that you only speak to once a year at Christmas.”
“I think you’re being a little hard on me. Just think about it and who knows, you might find it in your heart to give me a chance. I think I can make you happy.”
So true. You probably could have made me happy with your hot body and your many, many credit cards. Alas! It was not meant to be.Take me home sweet talker, so I can go sob my eyes out.
I am soooooooooooooo tired of this. OK! Listen up guys…
PLEASE DO NOT ASK ME OUT IF YOU ARE MARRIED, ENGAGED, DATING OR EVEN CONSIDERING ANOTHER WOMAN!!!
Mena will no longer stand for it and will fully utilize her MOPO’s to ensure that all culprits will never be able to make "Happy" again. I have spoken. Now leave me alone. I need a good cry before I head back to the drawing board.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Nothing wowo for here
My mother ran into my room yesterday (Yes, she ran. She is rather sprightly for her age), bursting with excitement.
“Mena get up and see what I just bought you”
“Bought me?”
I had a sudden moment of overwhelming joy. My own don better. My parents have finally bought me a car. All my begging didn’t fall on deaf ears. The pictures of cars subtly placed on their breakfast plates, bathroom mirrors and in their shoes must have worked. I wonder what they got me. It better be my Porsche Cayenne Jeep or else!
Ah ah! Mena! You no greedy at all o.
En! Are you talking? Please, please, please respect yourself. When Porsche Cayenne Jeep owners are talking please don’t involve your Peugeot 504 driving self. Abi, they said ask and it shall be given unto you. Na my fault you no ask God for wetin you want? I have been planning how to oppress my enemies for a long time and I now know it will not be with hair or my Manolo's but from the lofty heights of my Porsche jeep.
I will no longer walk anywhere. Even if I need to withdraw cash from the Zenith bank next door. The fact that it will take me longer to reverse out and go round the one way system to get there is irrelevant. I will drive my jeep there. In fact come Monday morning I will be driving my jeep into my office building (Yes, you heard me... Into the building) and park it right next to my desk. In fact fashe that. I will move my desk into my car. Anyone requiring my account management skills will have to tap gently on my windscreen and depending on my mood I might or might not lower my automated windows to discuss their business needs with them. My Porchy baby, I can’t wait. Mummy will look after you. I’ll get you your own personal bodyguard who will protect you at all times. A smack down now, talk later kinda guy…
“En you are looking at Madams car!!!??? “
Gbosha!
“U dey craze!? Will you come on avert your koro koro eyes from the morrar vehicle immediately? Abi, you wan use your evil eye to crack the windshield?”
“Ye! Okada man, you touch Madams car?”
Gbosha!
“U don kolo ni? You dey use better thing to keep your balance on that useless looking Suzuki motorcycle. Next time even if trailer dey behind you, you better fall and let it drive on top of you before you touch my Madams car again.”
Ah yes! Porchy baby and I will be very happy together. Might not even need a man. I’m sure the immense satisfaction of watching the little people scurry out of my way when I drive past will be better than sex.
“Mena!!!”
Oh yeah, forgot she was trying to break the good news to me. I should try and act surprised when she whips the key out of her bra. My mother hides anything important in her bra. At any one time she has a picture of my father, her bank account details, car keys and some of her real jewelry swimming around in there.Her argument being no armed robber wants to go rummaging around in her bra.
“Yes Mummy, you were saying.”
“Hisss… it’s not your fault. I’m about to give you something that will change your life forever and you are daydreaming.”
You bet it’s gonna change my life forever. No more begging you for rides. I can come and go as I please. I’m free at last!
“Sorry Mummy, I’m listening. I promise.”
Make it snappy ol' lady. Mena’s got Okada's to run over.
“Close your eyes and stretch out your hand”
Ooooohhhh!! Why is this woman always so dramatic? Fine, I’ll close my eyes just to make this a little faster. Oh my God! I’m so excited. I think I might just have peed a little.
“Tada!”
I can feel something in my hands. It doesn’t feel like the keys to no car I’ve ever seen. It feels like a cross between rubber and armour plating and whatever it is weighs a ton. My heart starts to sink and I reluctantly open one eye to see what I’m holding. What the …Both eyes are now open and in my hands is a black mesh like garment that looks like a medieval torture instrument.
“Mummy what is this?”
It had better be an aerodynamic driving suit worn by all the celebrities to make their Porsche Cayenne’s go faster or else.
“Do you like it?”
“How can I like it when I don’t know what it is?”
“It’s the Man Catcher by Body Wowo . It supposed to be the latest thing in girdle wear.”
Ewwww girdle wear. I don’t do girdles. I do Spanx.
Same thing genius.
You are still here Chairman of the Peugeot Rotary club? Please I’ve warned you to stop trying to feel amongst by speaking to me. Like I said, I don’t do girdles. Mamas do girdles. Lagos bigzzz girlzz do Spanx. Razzo.
My mother is practically jumping up and down in excitement.
“Read the label and then try it on. You’ll see how good it is.”
Read wetin? The only thing I want to read right now is a bit in the Bible that says I can kill my mother under extreme emotional distress.
“Go on read it.”
Fine! If it will make her leave my room any faster, so I can sob over my crushed Porchy baby dreams, I’ll read the darn thing…
Men no dey look u again?
Dog dey chase you for road?
You go market and dey think sey you be Malu?
Ah! My Sister that mean your borry don Wowo finish.
But no cry o. No go Babalawo. Tell your mama make she no fast for you again because Man Catcher by Body Wowo don come to your rescue.
Once you don wear am finish, Men go just dey follow you yanfu, yanfu.
Make you wear Man Catcher today and unwowo di wowo for your borry.
Lord help me! What is this trash?
Yes, I might have a small, hardly noticeable tumtum and maybe my boobies ain't where they used to be but that is surely no reason for this major insult. My body no wowo o. Even if it was, God forbid that I will wear this local market woman product.
“Go on try it on.” Says my mother tugging at my pj’s .
“Mummy please I don’t need this and I am not trying anything on. Now please take this away and let me finish reading my book…How to meet and marry rich people.”
Several smacks and an ear pulling later, I am standing starker’s in the middle of my room whilst my mother helps me pull on this contraption. I5 minutes of tugging and … Oh Lord! I can’t believe it. My tummy’s disappeared and I can see my feet again (so need a manicure). My boobs are practically under my chin and I do believe that’s an ass I can see behind me. Turns out the Man Catcher might be a miracle worker after all. I look like a coca cola bottle with hair. My mother has finally done something right. Can’t wait to go out and show off my new figure. Gee it is a bit tight though and breathing is becoming a tad difficult. But who needs air when you look this good? Hmmm...What are those black spots floating around my eyes and why is the floor suddenly rushing towards my face? Hey! Who turned out the lights?
“Mena get up and see what I just bought you”
“Bought me?”
I had a sudden moment of overwhelming joy. My own don better. My parents have finally bought me a car. All my begging didn’t fall on deaf ears. The pictures of cars subtly placed on their breakfast plates, bathroom mirrors and in their shoes must have worked. I wonder what they got me. It better be my Porsche Cayenne Jeep or else!
Ah ah! Mena! You no greedy at all o.
En! Are you talking? Please, please, please respect yourself. When Porsche Cayenne Jeep owners are talking please don’t involve your Peugeot 504 driving self. Abi, they said ask and it shall be given unto you. Na my fault you no ask God for wetin you want? I have been planning how to oppress my enemies for a long time and I now know it will not be with hair or my Manolo's but from the lofty heights of my Porsche jeep.
I will no longer walk anywhere. Even if I need to withdraw cash from the Zenith bank next door. The fact that it will take me longer to reverse out and go round the one way system to get there is irrelevant. I will drive my jeep there. In fact come Monday morning I will be driving my jeep into my office building (Yes, you heard me... Into the building) and park it right next to my desk. In fact fashe that. I will move my desk into my car. Anyone requiring my account management skills will have to tap gently on my windscreen and depending on my mood I might or might not lower my automated windows to discuss their business needs with them. My Porchy baby, I can’t wait. Mummy will look after you. I’ll get you your own personal bodyguard who will protect you at all times. A smack down now, talk later kinda guy…
“En you are looking at Madams car!!!??? “
Gbosha!
“U dey craze!? Will you come on avert your koro koro eyes from the morrar vehicle immediately? Abi, you wan use your evil eye to crack the windshield?”
“Ye! Okada man, you touch Madams car?”
Gbosha!
“U don kolo ni? You dey use better thing to keep your balance on that useless looking Suzuki motorcycle. Next time even if trailer dey behind you, you better fall and let it drive on top of you before you touch my Madams car again.”
Ah yes! Porchy baby and I will be very happy together. Might not even need a man. I’m sure the immense satisfaction of watching the little people scurry out of my way when I drive past will be better than sex.
“Mena!!!”
Oh yeah, forgot she was trying to break the good news to me. I should try and act surprised when she whips the key out of her bra. My mother hides anything important in her bra. At any one time she has a picture of my father, her bank account details, car keys and some of her real jewelry swimming around in there.Her argument being no armed robber wants to go rummaging around in her bra.
“Yes Mummy, you were saying.”
“Hisss… it’s not your fault. I’m about to give you something that will change your life forever and you are daydreaming.”
You bet it’s gonna change my life forever. No more begging you for rides. I can come and go as I please. I’m free at last!
“Sorry Mummy, I’m listening. I promise.”
Make it snappy ol' lady. Mena’s got Okada's to run over.
“Close your eyes and stretch out your hand”
Ooooohhhh!! Why is this woman always so dramatic? Fine, I’ll close my eyes just to make this a little faster. Oh my God! I’m so excited. I think I might just have peed a little.
“Tada!”
I can feel something in my hands. It doesn’t feel like the keys to no car I’ve ever seen. It feels like a cross between rubber and armour plating and whatever it is weighs a ton. My heart starts to sink and I reluctantly open one eye to see what I’m holding. What the …Both eyes are now open and in my hands is a black mesh like garment that looks like a medieval torture instrument.
“Mummy what is this?”
It had better be an aerodynamic driving suit worn by all the celebrities to make their Porsche Cayenne’s go faster or else.
“Do you like it?”
“How can I like it when I don’t know what it is?”
“It’s the Man Catcher by Body Wowo . It supposed to be the latest thing in girdle wear.”
Ewwww girdle wear. I don’t do girdles. I do Spanx.
Same thing genius.
You are still here Chairman of the Peugeot Rotary club? Please I’ve warned you to stop trying to feel amongst by speaking to me. Like I said, I don’t do girdles. Mamas do girdles. Lagos bigzzz girlzz do Spanx. Razzo.
My mother is practically jumping up and down in excitement.
“Read the label and then try it on. You’ll see how good it is.”
Read wetin? The only thing I want to read right now is a bit in the Bible that says I can kill my mother under extreme emotional distress.
“Go on read it.”
Fine! If it will make her leave my room any faster, so I can sob over my crushed Porchy baby dreams, I’ll read the darn thing…
Men no dey look u again?
Dog dey chase you for road?
You go market and dey think sey you be Malu?
Ah! My Sister that mean your borry don Wowo finish.
But no cry o. No go Babalawo. Tell your mama make she no fast for you again because Man Catcher by Body Wowo don come to your rescue.
Once you don wear am finish, Men go just dey follow you yanfu, yanfu.
Make you wear Man Catcher today and unwowo di wowo for your borry.
Lord help me! What is this trash?
Yes, I might have a small, hardly noticeable tumtum and maybe my boobies ain't where they used to be but that is surely no reason for this major insult. My body no wowo o. Even if it was, God forbid that I will wear this local market woman product.
“Go on try it on.” Says my mother tugging at my pj’s .
“Mummy please I don’t need this and I am not trying anything on. Now please take this away and let me finish reading my book…How to meet and marry rich people.”
Several smacks and an ear pulling later, I am standing starker’s in the middle of my room whilst my mother helps me pull on this contraption. I5 minutes of tugging and … Oh Lord! I can’t believe it. My tummy’s disappeared and I can see my feet again (so need a manicure). My boobs are practically under my chin and I do believe that’s an ass I can see behind me. Turns out the Man Catcher might be a miracle worker after all. I look like a coca cola bottle with hair. My mother has finally done something right. Can’t wait to go out and show off my new figure. Gee it is a bit tight though and breathing is becoming a tad difficult. But who needs air when you look this good? Hmmm...What are those black spots floating around my eyes and why is the floor suddenly rushing towards my face? Hey! Who turned out the lights?
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Please insert foot here
I’ve been having a very steamy affair with the guy in the office across the hall. Welllllllll, technically, it’s not really an affair. Can’t even call it a friendship since I’m not sure he knows I exist. It’s more like a sordid, x-rated daydream on my part. You can’t blame me people because this guy is hunkalicious! He is very hot, tall and as bald as Kojak. Just the way I like em.
Don’t know if I’ve ever pointed this out before but all those with excessive amounts of body hair, please don’t bother applying for the position of Mr.Mena. I refuse to spend at least 5 minutes everyday looking for my wedding ring, earrings or anything else that decides to get tangled in your unruly body hair during cuddle time. Yes Gentlemen! There will be cuddle time. Lots of cuddle time. I don’t want to hear any of that “REAL AFRICAN MEN” don’t cuddle rubbish. No cuddling. No getting happy. Comprende? Really! Men are just selfish. The expect us to get their initials trimmed into our pumpum hair but will they wax their backs for us? No, of course not because that’s not “Manly”. Yeah! Well, if the Lord wanted my pumpum to be well trimmed at all times, then he would have sent a tiny little gardener to live down there salary free. Nonsense. In fact don’t get me started on male vs. female grooming or we’ll be here all night.
I mean life is just unfair. On many occasions I’ve spent hours getting myself waxed, salt scrubbed and pummeled for a date only to get there and find my date has hair coming out of his nostrils and has something that looks like a mushroom growing on his toenails. Its like you guys think you can turn up naked with nothing covering your bits but body hair and we would still want you (Some of you ladies look like you might be thinking that’s not too bad an option. Please just hook up with your driver if you are that desperate). We spend a fortune primping and preening ourselves and the least we expect in return is a little appreciation for the time and effort this takes but do we get that ladies? Like hell we do. All we get is nagging and questions.
You spent how much on what?
To answer your question. We spend that much on clothes because we’ve seen the Bubu’s your mama wears and whilst they might be cost effective and environmentally friendly, they are also probably the reason your father has 3 concubines, 14 illegitimate children and a bad back from getting his jiggy on every other minute with everyone but your mother. So excuse me if I choose not follow in her footsteps by spending a small fortune on a Deola Sagoe corset which I promise you will enjoy taking off later on(That’s the secret to getting him to pay the bills ladies. Find a way to incorporate S.E.X. into the sentence when discussing your spending and Bobs your uncle).
Why do you always take so long to get ready?
I take that long to get ready so your friends wont spend the next beer fest they have without you discussing how I used to be hot before I started dating/married your impatient ass. Also, I need you to see other men’s jaws drop when I enter a room, so you know to get your lucky ass home every night and stop wasting time in the office with that big boobed akpati mama you call a secretary.
Why must you do your hair every other day?
I HAVE to do my hair every other day because your kinky ass self won’t let me wear my night cap to bed because it apparently spoils your mood when you’re trying to make happy. You make happy without the hairnet you pay for the cost of pimping up my Mexican, Peruvian or whatever country is bloody well charging us obscene amounts of money for hair at the moment.
So please guys, have a little more consideration for us ladies and try to make an effort. Get some sandpaper and work on those crusty feet. Pluck the excess hair around your eyebrows so we know where the right one ends and the left one begins because it sure beats looking like a hairy ass caterpillar crawled up your face and died. I think I have managed to impart some life changing words of wisdom to you all. No need to thank me just giving back to the needy.
Anyway, let’s get back to my Fantasy Guy, who by the looks of him will not be needing any of my male grooming tips.
Saw him for the first time last week, when he came running into the stairwell from the rainstorm outside. His wet shirt was plastered to his very firm abs…
Oh that’s another thing I forget to mention. Future Mr.Mena, I need abs. Only one of us is allowed to have a food baby growing in their midsection and since I have already started nurturing one (Yes my little food induced preggy belly, mama’s gonna feed you in a minute. That’s a good food baby! Coochi coochi Koo), I believe it is only fair that you take on the responsibility of maintaining firm abs and tight buns in the relationship.
Back to my Fantasy Guy, who had raindrops glistening on his shiny bald head. I think I actually tingled when I saw him and that hasn’t happened in a while. He’s walking up the stairs and I knew I just couldn’t let him get away without speaking to him. So as he draws up next to me on the staircase, I say the first thing that comes to my mind…
“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens”
What the hell? Where did that come from? Why am I singing “Favorite Things” from Sound of Music? Damn my persistent obsession with musicals and show tunes! Knew it was going come back and bite me in the ass some day.
Fantasy Guy looks at me and says “Sorry did you say something?”
A normal person would just have stopped and composed themselves before the said anything to cause further embarrassment but no, not Mena.
Instead I replied
“You know the song they sing when it’s raining in Sound of Music don’t you? I always think of it when it rains.” And I then continued on my path to utter and complete self destruction by finishing off the rest of the 1st verse just so he could see how crazy I really was.
“Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things”
All the time I was singing, a voice in my head kept telling me to shut up but my brain obviously wasn’t processing the signals. Thanks a lot brain. Trust you to pack up in a moment of crisis.No books for you for a month. Lets see how you like watching Ellen Degeneres for the next 30days. So 1 slow, painful minute later, I stood there as Fantasy Guy looked at me like I had just escaped from Aro and started to inch past me up the stairs without saying a word.
Sigh, I tend to avoid him now as I am too embarrassed to face him again. I have nothing but my lustful thoughts to keep warm at night. Maybe I need lessons on how to win over the opposite sex? Anyone willing to teach me?
Don’t know if I’ve ever pointed this out before but all those with excessive amounts of body hair, please don’t bother applying for the position of Mr.Mena. I refuse to spend at least 5 minutes everyday looking for my wedding ring, earrings or anything else that decides to get tangled in your unruly body hair during cuddle time. Yes Gentlemen! There will be cuddle time. Lots of cuddle time. I don’t want to hear any of that “REAL AFRICAN MEN” don’t cuddle rubbish. No cuddling. No getting happy. Comprende? Really! Men are just selfish. The expect us to get their initials trimmed into our pumpum hair but will they wax their backs for us? No, of course not because that’s not “Manly”. Yeah! Well, if the Lord wanted my pumpum to be well trimmed at all times, then he would have sent a tiny little gardener to live down there salary free. Nonsense. In fact don’t get me started on male vs. female grooming or we’ll be here all night.
I mean life is just unfair. On many occasions I’ve spent hours getting myself waxed, salt scrubbed and pummeled for a date only to get there and find my date has hair coming out of his nostrils and has something that looks like a mushroom growing on his toenails. Its like you guys think you can turn up naked with nothing covering your bits but body hair and we would still want you (Some of you ladies look like you might be thinking that’s not too bad an option. Please just hook up with your driver if you are that desperate). We spend a fortune primping and preening ourselves and the least we expect in return is a little appreciation for the time and effort this takes but do we get that ladies? Like hell we do. All we get is nagging and questions.
You spent how much on what?
To answer your question. We spend that much on clothes because we’ve seen the Bubu’s your mama wears and whilst they might be cost effective and environmentally friendly, they are also probably the reason your father has 3 concubines, 14 illegitimate children and a bad back from getting his jiggy on every other minute with everyone but your mother. So excuse me if I choose not follow in her footsteps by spending a small fortune on a Deola Sagoe corset which I promise you will enjoy taking off later on(That’s the secret to getting him to pay the bills ladies. Find a way to incorporate S.E.X. into the sentence when discussing your spending and Bobs your uncle).
Why do you always take so long to get ready?
I take that long to get ready so your friends wont spend the next beer fest they have without you discussing how I used to be hot before I started dating/married your impatient ass. Also, I need you to see other men’s jaws drop when I enter a room, so you know to get your lucky ass home every night and stop wasting time in the office with that big boobed akpati mama you call a secretary.
Why must you do your hair every other day?
I HAVE to do my hair every other day because your kinky ass self won’t let me wear my night cap to bed because it apparently spoils your mood when you’re trying to make happy. You make happy without the hairnet you pay for the cost of pimping up my Mexican, Peruvian or whatever country is bloody well charging us obscene amounts of money for hair at the moment.
So please guys, have a little more consideration for us ladies and try to make an effort. Get some sandpaper and work on those crusty feet. Pluck the excess hair around your eyebrows so we know where the right one ends and the left one begins because it sure beats looking like a hairy ass caterpillar crawled up your face and died. I think I have managed to impart some life changing words of wisdom to you all. No need to thank me just giving back to the needy.
Anyway, let’s get back to my Fantasy Guy, who by the looks of him will not be needing any of my male grooming tips.
Saw him for the first time last week, when he came running into the stairwell from the rainstorm outside. His wet shirt was plastered to his very firm abs…
Oh that’s another thing I forget to mention. Future Mr.Mena, I need abs. Only one of us is allowed to have a food baby growing in their midsection and since I have already started nurturing one (Yes my little food induced preggy belly, mama’s gonna feed you in a minute. That’s a good food baby! Coochi coochi Koo), I believe it is only fair that you take on the responsibility of maintaining firm abs and tight buns in the relationship.
Back to my Fantasy Guy, who had raindrops glistening on his shiny bald head. I think I actually tingled when I saw him and that hasn’t happened in a while. He’s walking up the stairs and I knew I just couldn’t let him get away without speaking to him. So as he draws up next to me on the staircase, I say the first thing that comes to my mind…
“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens”
What the hell? Where did that come from? Why am I singing “Favorite Things” from Sound of Music? Damn my persistent obsession with musicals and show tunes! Knew it was going come back and bite me in the ass some day.
Fantasy Guy looks at me and says “Sorry did you say something?”
A normal person would just have stopped and composed themselves before the said anything to cause further embarrassment but no, not Mena.
Instead I replied
“You know the song they sing when it’s raining in Sound of Music don’t you? I always think of it when it rains.” And I then continued on my path to utter and complete self destruction by finishing off the rest of the 1st verse just so he could see how crazy I really was.
“Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things”
All the time I was singing, a voice in my head kept telling me to shut up but my brain obviously wasn’t processing the signals. Thanks a lot brain. Trust you to pack up in a moment of crisis.No books for you for a month. Lets see how you like watching Ellen Degeneres for the next 30days. So 1 slow, painful minute later, I stood there as Fantasy Guy looked at me like I had just escaped from Aro and started to inch past me up the stairs without saying a word.
Sigh, I tend to avoid him now as I am too embarrassed to face him again. I have nothing but my lustful thoughts to keep warm at night. Maybe I need lessons on how to win over the opposite sex? Anyone willing to teach me?
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