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 1st 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?
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!
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. ”
“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...”
“...It’s the genes.”
What the...Brain! Why am I blubbering like a fool? Is this the verbal Hiroshima I asked for?
“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…”
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.