Teacher can I be your pet? 2

BB Convo Participants … Mena, Annoying  Married Chick and Iyawo Peanut Boy

Mena: Hi guys. Guess what?  I’m stuck in training all day.

AMC: We don’t care. Abi did we tell u we wanted to c u? Just had breakfast and still hungry. Think I’m going to make jollof rice so bugger off.

Mena: Charming as always sister dearest. I see pregnancy hasn’t improved your surly attitude.

AMC: *Raspberry*

Mena: Ireti.  Anyway u’ll never guess what just happened?

AMC: Don’t care. Need food. Need light. Need to live on the island *Crying*

IPB: I care. Tell me all. I am eager and ready to listen as I’m channeling tranquil vibes and I’m at peace with the universe *Big Smile*

My family members sure know how to pick em. Like we’re not crazy enough on our own; we have to marry and breed with other loopy people.

Mena: Hey IPB. Was just about to tell sis here that the trainer on my course is pretty darn cute. At least he was until I saw him picking his nose. Have totally lost interest now.

AMC: Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Where do you find all these dodgy blokes from?  You better run before you discover he eats his toe nail clippings too or even worse he likes to watch YOU eat them before he can play mummies and daddies…hahahahahahahahahaha

Mena: You have brain touch AMC. Please stop talking trash around my unborn niece/nephew

IPB: Am I missing something here? Unless he actually ate the bogey after picking his nose, then I don’t see the problem. Men are like puppies, they can be trained to behave appropriately in polite company.

AMC: Train wetin? I beg Mena don’t listen to her. Such men cannot be trained and even if you could make him to behave in public, you just know some perky breasted, twenty something year old will now see his potential and steal him off you.

IPB: AMMMMCCCCCCCCC! I’m really not impressed with the negative vibes you’re bringing into this chat. I think we should take a moment to cleanse the air by sending each other loving comments. I’ll start…I think I’m very lucky to be surrounded by women who are beautiful both outside and in *Hug*

AMC: Kiss my arse *Raspberry*

Mena: Ladies please! Now let’s all be civil. AMC you’re being a tad melodramatic. I think IPB is right. He’s too hot to let a lil’ thing like unsanitary habits get in the way of true love. I shall mould him into my dream man.

AMC: Afi mould. IPB my sister is no spring chicken and does not have the time to be doing an Eliza Doolittle on razz boys.  Mena you better close your eyes and marry him like that. At your advanced stage in life you don’t have time to be picky. The only deal breaker would be skid marks and if you’re a good Christian girl like  you claim, you will not discover those until after it’s too late…hahahahahahahaha

IPB: Mena ignore her. You might not be young and perky anymore but you don’t have to sell yourself short.

Mena: Wow IPB! Thanks. Just what every woman wants to hear *Sarcy Face*

AMC: *ROTFL* I beg you people don’t kill me. All this laughing is making me want to pee.

Mena: I don’t know why I bother telling you lot anything. Go away jo. I’m going back to pretending to be interested in the training. I HATE U ALL!!!! *Raspberry*

IPB: You see what you’ve done AMC? You’ve upset her.

AMC: Me Ke? Miss Congeniality 2007 at NYSC camp. I don’t think so. I think it’s your reference to age and drooping body parts that has upset her.

IPB: Mena are you still there? Don’t be mad. I apologise for both AMC and myself.

AMC: Speak for yourself o. I haven’t done anything. Only telling the truth.  Tick, tock…

Mena: What’s your point exactly? That just because I’m somewhere in my early 30’s I need to marry whatever frog comes my way?

IPB: Early 30's???? Sister please!!!!!

AMC: Pretty much. Men are scarce. Get what you can…Bogey eater or not.

IPB: Well not any frog. We draw the line at potential wife beaters, okada drivers and people who already have wives. Everyone else is game *Big Smile*

Mena: I rebuke such. I have a list of wants and I intend to stick to them.

AMC: *Sigh* I’ve heard your wants and let me just tell you that you go wait tire.

Mena:  *Talk to the hand*

IPB: Look Mena, the sad reality is the guys your age want to marry twenty year olds and the ones older than you are all already married. So we need to put things into perspective. You were obviously initially attracted to him so forget his dodgy etiquette skills for a minute and get to know him better. You might find you can live with the annoying quirks.

AMC: She get choice? Look you’re starting to embarrass the family. Just lure one home already will ya?

IPB: Hey are you still there? 

PING!

No!  I’m not there actually because while all this frantic bbing has been going on, Tall Drink of Chocolate has moved from his perch at the back of the class and was now pulling up a chair to sit beside me.

“You’re not paying attention” he says looking at my bb and then back at me with a smile.

“I am. I’m multi-tasking” I say with a giggle, fluttering my eyelashes.

He’s gorge and he doesn’t have a local accent. So what if he likes to stick his finger up his hooter? No ones perfect.

Forget the local accent. He just touched our arm. HE’S FLIRTING WITH US MENA. PRAISE THE LORD! Our first flirt of 2011. If he’s remotely attracted to us without make up, I say he’s a keeper.

Calm down Brain lets not be too hasty.  But I do think you’re right.

For the next couple of hours Tall Drink of Chocolate kept going back and forth between me and the rest of the class. By the end of the course I’d discovered that he’d lived in the Middle East for a couple of years but was thinking of coming back to Las Gidi…Result.  

He hasn’t mentioned any wife, kids, serious relationships but I guess Strategic Training isn’t the place for that especially since all he’s done is flirt. A serious offer of intent is yet to be made.  

As I slowly walked towards him to say goodbye, I hoped and I prayed that he would give me some sort of sign that he was into me.

He did…A little white card with his number and the 4 little words every girl longs to hear “Make sure you call.”

Teacher can I be your pet?

Hey! Whys the alarm going off?

Its Saturday dammit!  

I’m going back to sleep jo. I was having a lovely dream about being president and my main edict was to have everyone become fatter than me. Yep! No one was allowed to be slimmer than Her Excellency, Presidentess Mena. Everyone must be at least a  size 16 and above. And also, no one could have longer hair, a bigger car or appear to be more intelligent than me in any way.

Yes! A nation of obese, thick, bald headed Picanto driving, hut dwellers is the future.  I must go back to sleep immediately and see if I can continue my fantasy reign.

No we can’t Mena. We having training remember?

Training ke?

Oh yeah. I remember now. Sodding HR with their various torture tactics. Who the hell arranges training for a Saturday? I’m sure they are infringing on my civil rights. I will complain to my local government councilor as soon as I figure out who it is.  Strategic Relationship Management indeed. I mean do I look like I need to be taught how to strategically manage a relationship?

Well …

Shut up

But…

I said shut up. I don’t want to hear any of your random thoughts Brain. I want to sleep, so I suggest you start making it happen. Now start humming my favorite lullaby.

Mo ri omoge to rewa to duro shepe shepe figure 8 shepe shepe figure 8
Orombo aya re o dun ji osan lo

Olomoge dance with your chest, 
Dig it right, dig it left o ya oya were were Ki a mosa 
Jowo dance with your chest

Ah! Yes. Nothing like some old school Shina P. Don't know what J.Holiday is on about but this is the only thing that puts me to bed.

Training ko, training ni.  I’m knackered. Had my first session with the Terminator yesterday and I swear even my teeth hurt. The man is brutal; my mother collapsed after the first 15 minutes and had to be dragged by her feet back into the house. Don’t know why the woman likes to deceive herself. She and her ample behind should just sit somewhere and accept their destiny. I on the other hand did not have the luxury of feigning unconsciousness. Every time I thought about quitting, the image of my 50K check going into Terminator's pocket would revive me. So excuse me if I don’t feel like jumping out of bed to hang out with my irritating ibi ise people on the weekend.

Brain!!! Why have you stopped singing and why are my eyes still open?

Mena, you know we’ll get into trouble if we don’t go?

So?

Well, we might hate them all but we still need to eat until one of your hare brained…I mean awesome schemes makes us rich.

OOOHHHHHHHH!!!!! I’m tired and I was planning to pamper myself today. Get my hair and my nails did. Pluck the caterpillars that were once my eyebrows. It was going to be a “ME” day Brain.

Boo Hooo!!!!

There, there. Don’t worry you just get through the training and then we can go to the Palms and laugh at all the girls who are inappropriately dressed for the cinema.

Sniff…Really? That would be fun. 

OK, I’ll go but the minute anyone mentions the word “Role play” we’re faking a seizure and getting outta there.

Deal.

Arrggghhh!!! Knew I shouldn’t have come. Ladies Man has already plonked himself next to me in the training room. He must think he looks very sexy in his t-shirt, medallion and ripped jeans combo. I beg move your Ricky Martin looking self away from my side jo.  Nonsense.

This people need to get a move on. The session was meant to start at 9.30am. It’s now 10am and I’m being forced to have conversation with my work colleagues; someone will pay dearly for this.

Finally Trainer Chappy walks in apologizing profusely for being late.

Yeah wo’eva mate. Just switch on the projector and do your traini…

Aye Caramba!!!!!

Brain I hear you o. Who be this?

Walking in right behind Trainer Chappy was a tall, dark, muscular drink of chocolate milk.  Dressed in a casual black shirt, jeans and the latest edition leather converse sneakers…I know I say this a lot but this time I mean it…I think I’m in love.

Trainer Chappy introduces him as a colleague from the Middle East who’s here to help with certain aspects of the day. I’m suddenly geared up and ready to learn. Why the hell am I not wearing make up???!!!!!

Tall Drink of Chocolate's gaze glides over the room as he says “Hello” and our eyes finally meet.  His gaze remains on me a second longer than expected and my heart skips a beat. He gives me a cheeky grin and heads to the back of the class to sit down.

It takes every ounce of will power I have not to chase after him, tackle him to the ground and demand that he makes me Mrs. Tall Drink of Chocolate immediately.

Mena, we shall remain calm and lady like.

 I tried. I didn't look back during the first 30 minutes of the class. I pretend to be listening to what Trainer Chappy is saying but in actual fact I’m trying to see if I can spot my new heart throb in the reflective surface of the projection screen. Nada!  I can’t take it any more! I'm going to have to turn round and sneak a peek.

Awww…Still as lovely as ever, gazing intently into his computer screen. He's got little flecks of grey in his hair…very sexy. His hand slowly goes up to his face, probably to stroke his nicely trimmed goatee and then  …Ewwww! 

The dirty beast just stuck his finger up his nose and is having a good ol’ dig around. THEN he proceeds to wipe afore mentioned finger on a hanky.

Olodo! If you had a hanky why didn’t you use it in the first place??? What do you think they are for?

I despair at the caliber of men that constantly cross my path.

I immediately bb Annoying Married Chick and my sis in-law Iyawo Peanut Boy to inform them of my latest romantic disappointment and you’ll never believe what the two wicked sisters said to me…

The Terminator comes to town

The Terminator is supposed to be some miracle working, personal trainer that everyone is raving about.  I got his number from Bunnylicious newly buff hubby, who warned me that the guy was brutal. He apparently costs 50K a month…There goes my monthly ice cream budget( It’s not my fault I have expensive tastes in dairy products).  Anyway I figure it would be worth giving up Hagen-Daz Tuesdays, Wednesday and Saturday’s  for a new slinky body. So all fired up, I call the Terminator to book my first appointment. 

Damn! It’s an answering machine.

“This is the  Terminator.  Having problems with your weight?  Constant battles with  food? Can’t motivate yourself to exercise?

Wow, this guy reading our mind Brain and he sounds sexy too. American drawl, not the razzo I was expecting.

Well calling me was the right thing to do because you’re obviously a LAZY, FAT BASTARD! …

Ah ah! Wetin happen? Na fight?

 GET UP SLACKER!  ITS TIME TO FEEL THE BURN!  YOU WILL NOT BE A ROLLING TUB OF LARD IN LAS GIDI ON MY WATCH…

Mena hang up.  I’m scared.

I’m scared too Brain. Why is he shouting at his potential customers?

 … FAT IS YOUR ENEAMY AND WE MUST ANNIHILATE THE ENEAMY. GIVE YOURSELF OVER TO THE TERMINATOR AND I WILL MOULD YOU INTO A LEAN, MEAN, FAT KILLING MACHINE. Now leave your name and number and I’ll call you back. Till then, say it with me …FAT IS THE ENEMY! WE MUST ANNIHILATE THE ENEMY!

Beep.

God forbid. I ain’t leaving my details with him.

That’s right Mena. Don’t do it. He sounds like Genghis Khan on skunk. We’ll go back on our groundnut diet and everything will be cool.

You’re right Brain.

Err.. sorry Terminator wrong number. 

Click

Phew that was a close one. Come on Brain lets go finish off the tub of ice-cream in the freezer to celebrate what could have been a disastrous venture.

5 minutes later I’m snuggled up in bed with my tub of milky love about to watch Top Chef and …

Rrrriiiiinnnnng

Darn it! Who’s calling me now?

“Hello”

“This the Terminator. You rang” says a deep, masculine voice

Darn caller id. Its OK. We can wiggle out of this.

“Really?! Sorry must have dialed the wrong number.” I say

“Don’t lie to me lady and put down the food.” he responds

Jesus! I said looking around to make sure he hadn’t magically appeared in bed with me.

“How did you know I was eating?”  I asked

“I’m the Terminator.  I know everything. Now give me your address and be ready and waiting for me at 6am tomorrow morning. Wear nothing but tight Lycra leggings, a sports bra and vest.”

Warrup joker? You put jazz for mouth?

“But I don’t want you to come to my house at 6am and more importantly, I don’t do Lycra.”

“You don’t know what you want Lady.”

“I don’t?” I ask puzzled.

“No you don’t. You want a strong man to mould you into the woman you were meant to be, don’t you.”

“Moulding? Hmmm…Would that involve the strong man touching the aforementioned woman?

Mena resist. He’s using some kind of mind mumbo jumbo on us.

Now, now Brain. Let’s not be hasty. Let’s hear what our friendly neighborhood personal trainer has to say first.

“Don’t worry its all one on one contact. This journey is going to be about developing a trusting and fulfilling relationship between me and you in order to reach our ultimate goal.” He says sexily down the phone.

Yepa! It’s kinda hot in here o; abi nah sessy American drawl dey do me?  I don’t know about you Brain but this is probably the only one on one relationship I’m having with a man anytime soon, so sign me up to be Terminated. And before you can say "Arnold Schwarzenegger"  I’m reeling off my address and agreeing to tight Lycra.

Now, where the hell am I supposed to find a tight Lycra gym bunny outfit at 10pm at night?

 I’ll have to see if my mother has something  lurking around in her winter holiday wardrobe.

“Muuuummmmmmy” I whine as I drag myself into her room and flop on the bed.

“What do you want?” she snaps.

Charming as ever.

“Do you have a pair of lycra leggings?”

“What colour?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes” she says getting off of the bed and throwing open one of her wardrobes to reveal a shelf of multicolored Lycra heaven.

“Mummy why do you have so many pairs of leggings?!” I exclaim

“Your father likes us to have Disco Fever Night every once in a while.”

Ask a stupid question… Of course that’s what they’re for.

Crazy woman. If she thinks I’m going to give her the opportunity to traumatize me by asking what Disco Fever Night is; she’s got another thing coming. Not interested.

“I just need a black pair mum.”

“What for? You do know it will be tight for you don’t you?” She says giving me a ‘Respect yourself’ look.

“Yeah I know but my trainer says he wants tight.”

“Trainer? Really? That’s interesting. Been thinking about getting myself one “she says proceeding to do some star jumps.

Agbaya. Showing off to her own daughter.

“Maybe we should share?”

Share wetin? Nooooo!  Everybody should go and look for their own trainer. Only agreeing to cough up 50K because of the ‘One on One’ moulding sessions. This woman now wants to come and spoil my show.

“I don’t think you could handle the pace mum. Its going to be pretty intense and no offence but you ain't no spring chicken.”

‘Owww!!! Mum you promised no violence in the New Year. You swore on the Bible now!”

“Me I can’t handle the pace en? You that you need oxygen every time you climb up the stairs are telling me; All star track champion 4 years in a row at Queen Amina of Zaria school for young ladies, Ilorin; that I cant handle the pace?”

Wo’eva. That was like 100 years ago woman. I beg lets hear word.

“We shall see!” she says dropping to the floor to do one arm push ups.

What the…! Darn this woman is freaky strong. No wonder her slaps hurt so much.

Definitely keeping her away from Terminator so she doesn’t upstage me.

Here comes the bride. All fat and wide…

I promised myself there would be no blogging this year. 

I was going to start living and quit chipping my nail polish on my keyboard entertaining you guys.  No more moaning about my non-existent love life, my badly paid job and my annoying “Wish I could sell them for a stick of gum” family. This year was going to be all about me getting out there and being a whirling dervish of activity and fun.

Well, as you can see that New Year resolution has so far only lasted 48 days.  That’s a record for me actually as I usually don’t get past the 1^st week of whatever diet, don’t curse people 10 step plan etc. that I’m on.  And do you want to know the reason why this new life is still yet to materialize?

Huh?

Do you?

I don’t think there’s anybody here Mena. I told you they’d all leave if you didn’t update your blog.

Shut it Brain! Of course they’re here; cause if they weren’t that would mean we were talking to ourselves and normal people don’t talk to themselves now do they?

Errr…you’re talking to me. A grey lump of tissue in your head.

What’s your point?

Nothing! You’re right. Please do carry on.

Hey stop that!

What?

I can hear you humming Cypress Hill’s ‘Insane in the membrane’.  Bloody ungrateful organ.

Anyhoo! You people still pretending not to be there? You sulking because I left you all high and dry for the last couple of months?  Oya no vex.  It was the devil. I will not do it again. Until I can afford a lifestyle coach who will help me mend my evil ways you people are my moral compass.  So for the safety of the general public you can’t abandon me.

Shioooooo…Na deliverance not moral compass you need.

Wo’eva just shut up and listen. I really do have to start vetting the caliber of people that come in here.

It all started when I went to church…

Ennn …no wonder your life is in chaos. You mean you are just entering church for the first time? I’m surprised the building didn’t collapse on you or the fiery chasms of hell open up under your feet, turning you to…

IF YOU WOULD LET ME FINISH!!!!!

You’re shouting at the moral compass? It’s not your fault.

As I was saying …Went to church on the first Sunday of the month. Even if I miss church on the odd occasion, never miss  first Sunday’s for anything cause that’s when all the hotties who cant drag themselves to church for the rest of the month make the effort to turn up. So I’m usually there with my eagle eye checking out potential singles in need of saving. Well this Sunday was different because I was actually being distracted by…THE SERMON! Go figure. Who would have thought it?

See this hell bound child? The sermon was distracting you from mentally undressing innocent men in church?

Ignoring you. If they don’t want to be mentally undressed they shouldn’t turn up looking all good and smelling all yummy. I have fought with those meddling ushers on many occasions when they try to wield their power by forcing me to sit next to some undesirable element. If I want to sit next to the hottie in the tight T and butt hugging jeans, I should be allowed abi?  I suspect they do it on purpose to keep the hotties to themselves. Selfish cows. They don't want me to marry and then they will say they are my Christian sisters.

Anyway I digress…The sermon was all about being prepared to receive what you’re asking God for.  As the pastor preached, it occurred to me that  I was praying for all these things and I wasn’t even sure if I  was adequately prepared to receive them. It’s like praying for this season's Jimmy Choo Lance sandals when you’ve got inoperable bunions.  You’re not capable of doing those bad boys justice with your gnarly feet so why bother asking for a pair? 

There I was praying for Mr. Right when an abundance of Christmas cheer meant that my tummy was sitting on my lap and I was blinded by my fat cheeks every time I smiled.  All my married life fantasies have me prancing round the house half naked in sheer, barely there outfits that cost the GDP of a small African country.  How was this and all the piggy back rides to the kitchen to make caviar omelets for breakfast ever going to happen if I was the size of Moby Dick? And let’s not even consider the bodily harm I might do to both him and myself should the new and improved Karma Sutra manual I have ear marked as a bridal shower pressie ever get unwrapped.

It was like being struck by lightening.  I jumped to my feet; my Bill Blass leather satchel came crashing to the floor and the woman next to me, thinking I was having a spirit induced vision started shouting

“Speak to us sister. Share the message!”

I snatched my bag off the floor turned to her and said…

“Go find your own damn revelation sister.This one's  mine” and then tottered out of the service in my way too high Cavalli sling backs.

In the safety of my car I whipped out my phone and called the one person who understood the allure of frothy lace, naked twister and yet still appreciates the yumminess of a butter cream cupcake…Bunnylicious.

“Bunny!!!!”  I screamed down the phone when she answered.

“What’s the matter? Why are you crying?” she asked

“Oh Bunny it’s too awful” I wailed.

“Oh my God. Don’t tell me it’s finally happened?”

“Yes it has”…Boo hoo!

“La Perla has gone into recession?!!!!!” she screamed

“Noooo!!!! Will you focus on something other than your lampashing life for five seconds?”  I yelled back.

Geez! I really should consider giving her stint in a sex addiction clinic for her next birthday.

“Phew! That was a close one. Thought I would actually have to start letting my husband have his way round the house.”

“What do you mean?”

“Usually he wants something a certain way and I flash him some lace and presto…The bedroom is pink; we’re going to Paris instead of Ibiza for the summer; I have a walk in wardrobe and he has a table in the hallway for his study.  Nuff said. If La Perla shuts down we might need counseling.”

Hmmm…The crazy ashawo might be on to something here. Nevertheless…

“Look can we come back to me please?”

“Yeah sure sweetie what’s the matter?” she asked

“I now know why Mr. Right hasn’t found me.”

“Really? Pray do tell.”

“He hasn’t found me because he can’t recognize me.  The fat has hidden my true identity.God has shown him a vision of ethereal, slinky beauty and every time our paths cross he sees Jumbo the elephant. The poor man is obviously confused. ”

Boo Hoo!

“Lord! Not this malarkey again” she says sighing down the phone.

En! E mi malarkey?

“What did you just say to me? And did you just sigh?” I asked.

“I SAID NOT THIS MALARKEY AGAIN! STOP CALLING ME TO MOAN ABOUT YOUR FATTY BUM BUM IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT!”

I don't believe it. Brain! Wake up! Bunnylicious is shouting at me. We must think of a suitable response to annihilate her with. The cheeky so and so is about to get the verbal trashing of her life. Here goes…

“Why are you shouting at meeeeeeee….Ahhhhhh aaaahhhh....Sooooooobbbbbbbbb!!!!! It’s not my fault  I'm a fatty bum bum...”

Snotty sniffing.

“...It’s the genes.”

What the...Brain! Why am I blubbering like a fool? Is this the verbal Hiroshima I asked for?

Dunno

“Look stop crying. I didn’t mean to shout at you. Been reading this book on tough love and I think it’s getting to me. But you know I'm right? You  have to do something.”

“Yes. I know."  I said sulkily

“So how about you join the gym? Or get a trainer?  My boo has a trainer and I must say he’s looking very buff these days. I mean the other day we were going out and he put on this t-shirt and I swear my heart just went pitter patt…”

Click

Shioooo…Shout at me would she? When will she learn that’s it all about me and not her and her dry kinky gist? Afi pitter patter. She better go and see a specialist to make sure it’s not a heart condition.  But she did have a point. I should do something about it and the personal trainer sounds like a plan.