When bad cars make good people do bad things.

Psssttt…Yes you! Come here.

Mena? Is that you?

No! Its Dolly Parton after a disastrous tanning booth accident. What the hell do you think Dumbo? You are reading Mena’s Blog aren’t you?

No need to be rude. Maybe if you weren’t hiding under a desk in the dark we might be able to recognize you. Speaking of which…Why are you under a desk in the dark?

Be quiet. You ask too many questions. Is there a law that says one is not allowed to chillax under ones desk in the middle of the night with the lights off? I didn't think so.  Look stop slowing me down, this is going to be a very quick blog update.  I’m in hiding from my mother and I’m scared that the sound of my frantic typing might be heard by her bat like ears and reveal my secret location in Daddy’s study.

What have you done now Mena?

Me???!!! Why does everyone always think stuff is my fault? I’m the injured party in this fiasco.

Really?! So how come you’re the one in hiding.

Errr…Cause my mothers crazy.  You ever tried dealing with crazy? I know, why don’t you pop down to Akin Adesola Street and try to reason with the loony by the traffic lights about the fact that he’s causing an obstruction that could result in an accident and see if you come back with any ears. In other words, you can’t reason with crazy people. So it’s easier for me to stay in hiding until this whole thing blows over.

I’m sure you’re all wondering what happened?  How did your great heroine,Mena,come to be in this position?

Well, after I was introduced to the metal harbinger of death, I tried to reason with my mother…

How could she expect me??!! A newbie driver, in the death race arena that is Lagos, to survive the aggression of other motorists in that flimsy excuse of a car?

That didn’t work.

What would her friends think if they saw me in that tin can? She had to consider the family rep.

She just yawned, scratched her bum and continued watching  Real Housewives of Orange County.

The only men I would attract were mechanics looking to chat me up so they could get to the rare brake pads or whatever it is my antique automobile had lurking under its hood.

She paused momentarily at that and I could practically hear the metal wheels in her brain turning, trying to figure out if she was actually punishing me or herself by letting the eligible bachelors of Lagos see me in anything but the best.

Brain! I think we might be unto a winner here.

Don’t hold your breath missy. It’s your mother we’re talking about here. Remember when she chained herself to the gate on her birthday so your Dad couldn’t leave the house to go to  his cousins funeral until she got her birthday present? She was there for 2 days, caught malaria and even had lizards nesting in her hair but that woman stood her ground. So I doubt your pathetic attempts at manipulation are going to work on her.

Thanks for the support Brain!

Eventually her mental cogs ground to a halt.  She turned to look at me and said...

“You can only use the husband card so many times young lady. Anyway I have accepted the fact that I’m stuck with you. We all have our cross to bear. It will be nice to have one of my daughters living at home so when your Dad and I get too old to fend for ourselves you’ll be there to change the bed pans and stuff. So don’t stress yourself with the hubby thing anymore. There’s no GREAT shame in being a spinster. There’s a little but not a lot these days. Now please leave me alone I’m watching my show.”

Brain! Story don get k leg. Can she truly not be bothered by my lack of a potential hubby anymore? Can my one major bargaining chip be gone? We need to head to our room and regroup.

2 hours later…

Think Brain! Think! There has to be a way to get out of this.

Look I’m tired of thinking. I hurt and when are you going to eat some food dammit?! I need fuel to function. I’ve been sending signals to your tummy all afternoon or what did you think all the noises coming from down there were?

Gas?

That’s just charming. And what finishing school did you graduate from missy?

Look we don’t have time for bickering. We need to work together on this. Now focus.

By Samanja's  moustache! I think I’ve got it.

Err…No! That’s not it. Lets keep thinking.

It is Brain. If there isn’t a car to drive she can’t make me drive it now can she? So we just need to get rid of the car.

I promise you, this isn’t a good plan. Let’s do some more begging or buy her some rhinestone lace or something.

It will work. You’ll see. Stop being such a chicken and let’s get to work.

So I went downstairs to my mum, knelt down in front of her and apologized for being such a spoilt brat and not appreciating the gift she had given me. I threw my head into her lap and forced myself to cry (It’s actually quiet easy. I make myself imagine what my life would have been like with the tribal marks my Dad wanted to give me when I was born and the tears of relief come flooding down). Yep! I gave the performance of my life. By the end of it my mother was stroking my hair and singing my oriki to me. Telling me we all had to start  from somewhere and I should be patient, that my time would come in all things.

I actually felt pretty bad by the end of it.

But apparently not bad enough to call off your plan we see.

Wo’eva. Just because she was being mother-like for a change doesn’t mean she’s a reformed character. She backed me into a corner and I just did what I had to.

Devil daughter. God forgive you.

Story. That evening, operation Bye-bye Banger(BBB) commenced.