Hmmm...Not you again dude.

 After my recent case of mistaken identity I decided to change my look. You know...Make myself appear even more expensive than I usually do.  I know you’re all wondering how this is even possible considering the fact that I'm more or less perfect? Well, I decided to treat myself to a new head of hair.

28 inches of ass skimming, bouncy South American hair to be exact. Shaved from the heads pure virgin nuns from a convent in the middle of the Amazon. Believe me, the hair fine no be small. The fact that I bought it with the diesel money my mother left for the house, while she's off finding herself in Ibiza is irrelevant; and so is the fact that I am now living in perpetual darkness. Candle light was fine for my fore-fathers so it’s good enough for me.

However, before my re-invention I decided to send my new locks for a good ol’ wash. Pure virgin nuns or not, I ain't putting anyone else’s hair on my head till it’s been washed with a bottle of my mother’s industrial strength holy water. 

So here I am sitting at work, ignoring the mountain of files on my desk, as I eagerly await my drivers return with my satin bag full of hair...Hooray!!!

Boli Lover, who has  lost vast amounts of weight from a severe case of food poisoning, is trying to engage me in flirty banter.  He’s talking but I ain’t listening. I’m eyeing his now flat tummy with envy.  He’s managed to achieve in 2 weeks what months of dieting have failed to do for me. I consider snogging him in the hope of contracting some “Make you skinny but won’t kill you” virus but even the lure of a flat tummy isn’t enough to encourage physical contact with the man. 

Ijebu Chick claims to have read an article about how drinking your own pee makes you skinny.  We both laughed and said “God forbid” but I don’t trust her. We’re both rather competitive about  the whole diet thing and I just bet she’s bottling her own pee and making cocktails out of it as we speak. She’ll probably turn up in December looking sexily emaciated. The back stabbing cow.

I eye the empty mug from my morning coffee and glance casually towards the ladies.  Its practically water isn’t it? I mean how bad can it taste?

Only one way to find out blubber gut. Go on...Drink a lil’ peepee.

I’m gonna do it dammit! 

Attagirl!

I push back my chair, grab my mug and just as I’m about to head to the loo, I see Mr Fortune, my driver, heading towards me.

Phew! Saved from my own stupidity. 

Chicken!

Cluck off Brain!

In order to maintain the madam/driver relationship, I resist the urge to hug him as he strolls in. Instead I dig deep and give him some money for his trouble. He eyes my N100.00 tip and dumps the bag of precious hair on my desk in disgust.

Infidel! I miss the good old days when you could have people drawn and quartered for less.

I open up the bag to make sure my hair smelt salon fresh and my heart suddenly developed an irregular rhythm. 

Ahhhhh!!!! What is this?

I immediately pick up the phone and call my hairdresser.

No answer.

 So I fire off a text...

Floooooooooooooooooooooorencceee! You have started your madness again abi?

What is dis U have sent through Mr. Fortune?

I refuse to believe this limp, matted thing that looks like shaved hair from a gorilla’s armpit is d Brazilian weave I left for u 2 wash?

N’gba....it cannot be. For ur sake I hope u have given me d wrong bag by mistake. I’m sending my driver back 2 your salon now with MOPO. If I should receive a call from either of them that u have refused 2 handover 28 inches of soft, premium quality human hair, u will know today that it is possible to squeeze a human being of your hefty proportions into a “Ghana must go” bag and suspend them from a street light over third mainland bridge. With that your oversized ikebe it is unlikely that you will stay suspended for long; so after you come crashing down and ur run over by a BRT bus,  you will know that Fashola is truly working. Don’t try me o!

Send.

Delivered.

I immediately dispatch Mr. Fortune back to the hairdressers with instructions to stop by my place and pick up a MOPO. He is instructed not to return until my hair has been retrieved either through peaceful or truncheon bashing means. Nonsense girl. Trying to kill me for my mama. No one kidnaps my hair and gets away with it.

My phone beeps. 

I assume its Florence, who after receiving my text has seen the error of her ways and is responding to apologise for the mix up.

Hi, it’s been a while. Sure you’ve forgotten all about me. I ran into a mutual friend who gave me your number. I’m in town and would love to see you again.  We really need to talk. Give me a shout.  Hmmmm Dude.

“Blood of Jesus!” I scream as I chuck the phone across the room hitting Boli Lover square in the face.

“My face” he yells

“Oh God! My nose! This is blood abi? Look now its blood. You’ve broken my nose you crazy woman.”

I ignore his screaming. A small crowd is starting to gather round his desk as I make a break for the ladies.

Oh Lord! I can’t breathe. What the hells going on?

Ahhhh!!! My enemies.  First my temptress curls are  kidnapped by my shuku rocking hairdresser and now my jazz wielding friend with almost benefits turns up out of the blue...4 years later!  

Who have I offended o?!

How the hell did he find me?  Which evil so called mutual friend would do this to me?

And what the hell does he want now?

For those of you wondering who the hell Hmmm Dude is and why I’m so frazzled? He’s the pork dumpling seducer from my earlier post -"You did What?!" in 2007.  I can't think straight right now.  I need to go home and have a holy water bath with back to sender soap cause something sinister is afoot in Mena's tranquil world.

Just Cruising

You are all probably expecting an explanation for my long absence but we don't have time for all that. I've got stuff to get off my chest.

The other day I was cruising along…yes I drive now.

Would hardly call what you do driving. More like…

Shut it Brain! Was I talking to you?

Do I not know how to start the car?

Well yes…

Does it not move when I press the thingy-ma-jig  under my feet?

Yes but…

Do we not eventually reach our destination with minimal damage to both human life and private property?

You ran over an okada

Hisss… Must you always bring that up? He was in my way jo. The hairdressers were closing in 10 minutes and there was no way in hell I was going out without a quick touch up to my new Guatemalan weave (Like who knew Guatemalans had covetable hair?)

You ran him off the road and then reversed over his bike.

Look! I honked and he wouldn’t move, so I just nudged him a little so I could get past.

Your little nudge flung him off his bike and into a gutter.

Jeez… All this drama. Like gutter water ever killed anybody.

Did I not stop to see if he was alive and wanted to swap insurance details? And I might have rolled over his bike a few times but that was only because the ungrateful man called me a blind pot bellied monkey in Yoruba dammit!  No one gets away with calling Mena that. I probably did him a favor by rolling out some of the dents on that death trap he calls a motorbike.

I don’t know why you’re worried about him? What about poor Consuela? My darling lil’Kia baby.

Lord! It’s a piece of Japanese metal on wheels woman.

Hush your mouth you evil thing. How dare you say such things about Consuela?

My baby got her paintwork all scratched trying to get away from the okada guy and his tyre wielding lynch mob.  Honestly you have a slight traffic incident and suddenly everyone wants to do a “Joan of Arc” on you. 

Why are we even talking about this? You’re making me digress from the main point of this post. Zip it and let me get on with it. Always trying to make me look bad, when I’m just a decent human being who can’t afford therapy.

Anyhoo…I was driving the other day, doing a respectable 80 mph down Adeola Odeku when the annoying traffic lights decided to change. Naturally as a law abiding citizen it would have been improper to endanger other motorists by coming to a screeching halt; so I decided to be selfless and whizz straight through. After putting my life on the line for others you can imagine my surprise when I glanced into my rearview mirror to find myself being chased by a hungry looking LASTMA official on an okada.

My first thought was “What the f…”?! Do the world a favor and what do you get? The next was “Hooray!”… I’ve always wanted to be involved in a high speed car chase; like Thelma and Louise but without the suicidal tendencies. So I rev up my engine for effect and speed off leaving the okada in my dust. I take a few side streets for good measure and  zoom round the corner onto Ozumba Mbadiwe…

…Straight into the back of a Range Rover Sport in standstill traffic.

Jesu! Which kin country be this? Can a woman no longer  engage in dangerous stunts on a public freeway in order  to evade the law? Oh what to do? WHAT TO DOOOO??!!!!  Whoever owns this car is going to sue my Marks and Spencer heart print granny knickers right off me.

Judging by the personalized plates, the name stitched unto his polo shirt and the huge identity bracelet on his wrist;  the guy getting out of the Jeep with a face like thunder was Lami. Hmm…not bad.  Sessy and me no see no ring. Obviously a tad obsessed with personalizing everything he owns but hey! Who am I to begrudge another fellow human being some self love?

How can you think about men at a time like this?

What do you mean? Is there an inappropriate time to think about men? Especially buff ones that drive Jeeps?

Err…yeah! Right now! 

Just chillax and watch the master at work. We ain't paying a dime.

As Lami walks up to my window, I figure the best way to handle the situation is to disarm him with my awesome personality. So I lower my window, flutter my MAC augmented lashes and say

 “Lami right? I’m so sorry. I just don’t know what happened”

He backs away in shock, his eyes darting around in panic. I swear the guy broke out in a cold sweat.

"I don’t know you.  How do you know my name?"

Errrr…You're practically a working sign board for yourself mate.  Lami obviously ain’t too bright but jeep and good looks cross out stupidity in my book so we won’t judge him too harshly.

Before I could get out of the car and assure  Lami I wasn’t a modern day Kai driving witch, he rushes up to me and pushes my door closed.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" I yell

"You’re one of the girls from Fantasy Bar aren’t you? I recognize you…Booby Baby right?"

Ori re ko pe?  Ta ni Booby Baby?

"Look, my fiancé is in the car and naturally she can't know about our little get togethers. So lets  just keep it between us yeah? We can forget about the car and I’ll see you right later. You know what I’m saying?"

He then proceeds to chuck me on the shoulder and wink at me.

All through this I’m speechless. The only thing on my mind is I have a look like and she’s a garden tool called Booby Baby. So this is why strange men keep trying to stick things down my cleavage in supermarkets. I’m too weak to even defend myself,  I simply raise my automated windows, narrowly missing Lami the perv's fingers. 

I start my car and just as I’m about to inch my way forward and nudge Lami’s rear bumper to make myself feel better, I hear a knock on my passenger side window... It’s the LASTMA guy. 

How the hell did he find me?!

“Madam wine down. Wine down now, now!”

Can today get any worse? 

I don't have time for this now.

I must find this so called "Fantasy Bar" and confront this menace to my reputation at once. 

So fess up...Who knows where it is?