Back with a banger

Warrup Peeps?!!

Miss me?

No?

The feeling is mutual losers.

Brain and I have just returned from a chillaxing holiday. Hence the lack of blog updates. Well that and the fact that the letter "A" has stopped working on my ibi ise laptop and so no one understands a word I write anymore. Shame you peasants have been stuck here in 100 degree heat. It’s a pity but you all can’t be bigz girlzs like moi. Abi Brain? Give me a mental high five jo.

Really? Big girl?  No be you we see struggling to get into your economy seat to London the other day?  London na holiday? Shio.  And dey no tell you say Orobo no dey fly economy? Instead of you to have saved all that money you spent at Ice-cream Factory on a business class ticket; you were now harassing other lepa customers, trying to squeeze into your seat. Na wa for some people. Creamy goodness no go kill you.

Ahhhh!!!! I told you not to buy an economy ticket. See???!!!! We were seen and now everyone knows we aren’t rolling in wonga. Why must you always embarrass us?

Shut it Brain! It was either fly economy and shop like crazy or fly business class and buy our new Autumn/Winter wardrobe at Liverpool Street market. So excuse me for thinking about our fashion credentials. Ungrateful organ.

As for you. Me? Orobo abi???!!!!!!  See how people like to start with me?  You also want to bring my bigz girlz status into disrepute by announcing my budget travel itinerary to the world huh? As my driver likes to say when provoked “Thunder fire your left testicle!!!”

En! You dey curse me?

You never see curse. You better remove the one functioning member you have left from my blog before I send lightening to the other one. Nonsense. 

I don’t know why people can't mind their own business. So what if I flew economy? No be the same place the plane dey go? Or do they make the economy passengers parachute into the Atlantic ocean and use their luggage as life rafts to the UK? 

I beg! You can all say what you want but 3 suitcases of baffs says different, so kiss my heiny. The only thing left to complete my new wardrobe is the ultimate accessory…

A man?

Places to go?

Real Auntie Funmi hair?

A lepa body?

You’re still here? You’re obviously allergic to lampashing. No probs! Kiss your remaining love ball goodbye.

Wait now! Why are you running? Sex is overrated.

Joker! As I was saying, the one thing missing from my life is a car.

With my new baffs it would just be wrong for me to be red cabbing and hopping lifts all over the place.

My new Marc Jacobs Hobo deserves to ride in style and so I bit the bullet, sat my parents down and demanded my own car (Insisted on a jeep in a metallic olive green to complement my skin tone) or else I would be forced to take drastic measures.

Yeeeeaaahhhh well! I haven’t been allowed back into the house since and I am currently sleeping on Peanut Boys sofa. His Mrs. isn’t too thrilled by this and has taken to vacuuming the sofa whilst I’m still asleep on it. But hey! The jokes on her cause what she doesn’t know is I actually rather enjoy the sucking sensation good ol'Dyson Handy Vac provides.

You’re sick!

Takes one to know one pervo.

Anyway. After numerous pleading text messages, my mother has finally agreed to let me come back home. So I walk through the gates on my first day back and the first thing I see is my mother and Tony standing next to her 19gogoro Prelude Honda Accord. I have a bad feeling about this. I hadn’t seen that car since I was about 5. I thought it had been scrapped and its bits used to make chicken cages. Lord! Where the hell did she dig it up from and more importantly what is it doing here?

"Good Mena you’re home. Come and look at your new car." says my mother trying very hard not to laugh.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Ye! My stomach o. Bigz Girlz cruising in her 2 door, 1979 Prelude.  You sure say your Marc Jacobs no go catch fire if it enters this your new car?

Waka!

"Mummmmmmmmmyyyyyyy!!!! What is this? This isn’t a new car. This rust bucket is older than me." I moan. Looking in despair at the heap in front of me.

"You are obviously not ready to come back home. Tony! Escort her out of the gate."

"No! Wait! I’m listening." I say in a resigned tone.

 As much as I've enjoyed the time spent with my new Dyson lover on my brother’s sofa, I miss my room and all my stuff. If it means allowing my mother to deceive herself that I will drive this death trap to get back in, so be it.

"Oya get in the car and let Tony show you how it works." says mummy dearest shoving me towards the rust covered eyesore. 

It looks like its grinning at me and its freaking' me out. Why did I ever read Christine by Stephen King?

I open the passenger door and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of camphor and damp.

"Mummyyyyyyyy!!!!"

"Get in the car my friend. You just want to be posing on my husband’s money. He hasn't upgraded my Prado and you want jeep? Over my dead body."

Ohhhhhhh!!!! What kind of life is this? Someone would think we were poor the way this woman makes me suffer. Sebi I have relinquished my Porsche Cayenne dreams. The least they could do was get me a Picanto or something.

You! Picanto ke????!!!! You wicked o. You wan kill the car? Na everyday you go dey change suspension.

I’m too traumatized to deal with you now.

I get in the car and the seat immediately reclines of it's own accord and I’m left staring at the roof, where someone has written “One way to heaven!” next to a lovely illustration of skulls and crossbones.

Oh my God! I’m going to die in this recycled tin can and I’m not even sure I’m going to heaven. Boo Hoooooooooo!!!

"Mummmmmyyyyyyyyy!!!!!"

"That can easily be fixed. You’ve put on weight on your trip and it will be a good incentive for you to diet. You don't want the seat reclining when you’re driving now do you?" She says trying hard not to laugh.

Insult upon injury. She's leading me to an early grave and she thinks its funny? I can't be her real daughter. I must be the child of her love rival who died in a tragic accident and my father forced her to adopt me.

Tony returns my seat to the upright position and asks me to pay attention.

"Ok Madam! This motor old so na delicate touch you go dey use."

Wo’eva

"Why does it have 3 pedals? and why is the gear stick funny? What's with all the numbers?" I ask

"Madam?"

"The 3rd pedal on your left? What's that for?" 

Gee! Am I speaking Mandarin?

"That one na clutch now."

"What’s a clutch? I'm used to just 2 pedals. The accelerator and the break."

My mother starts giggling hysterically..."Original driver!" 

I ignore her. I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of getting upset.

"Ah! That one na automatic. This car na manual." says Tony, trying very hard not to laugh as well.

Manual? As in manual labor? 

"Mummy! I can't drive a manual!"

"By Gods grace you will learn or you will go back to your red cabs because Tony is no longer allowed to take you anywhere. Now pay attention"

Tony clears his throat and begins...

"To start the car you first need to open the bonnet…"

Huh? What the hell is he talking about?

"...turn the key and then…"

Tony then proceeded to jump out of the car, lift the hood and whack the engine with a metal bar tied to the bonnet. Slam the lid shut, jump back in the car and pump the clutch furiously before the old banger spluttered into life.

"You see how I do am small madam? E easy or make I show you again? You just have to be fast, fast. Maybe you no go dey wear those your koskos shoes when you dey start the car so you fit run well, well."

You’ve got be kidding me.

I look at him, turn to look at my mother and started to cry.