RIP Hot Babe 2

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


I am currently tethered to the bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey Sis!"


"What do you want? I’m busy."


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

See why I don’t send his ITK behind?

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


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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

"I beg your pardon?"


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

Emi?

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

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


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


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

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


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

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

"Kiss my bum bum."

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

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

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

OH … MY…GOD! BRAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh yeah! I was going to remind you about that

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


"No, I said this Saturday."


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RIP Hot Babe

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


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

Boo Hoo! My beautiful face.

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

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

Er... what’s going on here?

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

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

About a week ago

and when was the last time I posted a blog?

About a week ago

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

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

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

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

I think not.

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

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

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

BANG! BANG!

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

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

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

"Mena!!!!"

"I’m coming mummy."


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

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

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

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


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

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

No response.

Tap her face gently

No response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You will not kill me." Whack!


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My body is at work but mind is...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hehehe… “His beautiful Nubian princess”

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

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

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

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


“Hello! How are you feeling?”


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


“Much better thanks.”



“That’s good. You look better.”


Liar, Liar, pants on fire.


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


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

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


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


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


Not bloody likely!


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

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

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

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

U dey dare me?

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

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

Ahhhhhhhhh!!!! I was only joking o!

And the pain goes on.

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

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

“What haven’t we all seen before?”

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

"Mummy please!!!!"

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

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

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

"Cousins?"

YOU LIE WOMAN!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So which one should we focus on?"

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

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

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

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

I’m not listening….Lalalalalalalalala

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Why do I fall for it every time?