tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-191721082024-03-23T18:19:25.729+00:00Woman on the brink.Nigerian on the Edge.Frustrated woman ranting and raving!!!!!!!!!!Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-84096726157036866902012-07-03T13:10:00.000+01:002012-07-03T13:10:27.696+01:00The Boss 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
email for Boss guy came in when I was gliding several 1000 miles over the Atlantic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">towards
my holiday destination…Good Ol’ Blighty; where shopping reigns and taking the
bus is not detrimental to my aspiring bigz girlz status. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
was knackered from having to be among the “Allergic to deodorant “posse in
economy so didn’t notice the email from the training centre till the following
day. Something about some webinar that should have happened the day
before…Opps. Guess he missed that then. Surely they must have told him about it
verbally when he got there? I’ll just forward it to him anyway. There’s a link
to some online documents not to mention the fact that it gives me an
opportunity to keep the lust for Mena burning while I’m away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hello,
<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m so
sorry I’ve only just managed to access to my e-mails and there seems to be one
here for you. It came in while I was mid air, so apologies once again. I hope
you’re enjoying the training? I’m really looking forward to hearing your
feedback on their content and delivery when I get back. Maybe we could schedule
an informal meet over coffee so we can discuss how to use some of their
practices for our own internal training processes. Have a lovely day and please
don’t the let the fact that I’m on leave deter you from letting me know if you
need absolutely anything at all. Enjoy the rest of your day.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mena<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'><span
style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>Hello,
<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class=MsoNormal>
<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'><span
style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>I’m
so sorry I’ve only just managed to access to my e-mails and there seems to
be one here for you. It came in while I was mid air, so apologies once
again. I hope you’re enjoying the training? I’m really looking forward to hearing
your feedback on their content and delivery when I get back. Maybe we could
schedule an informal meet over coffee so we can discuss how to use some of
their practices for our own internal training processes. Have a lovely day
and please don’t the let the fact that I’m on leave deter you from letting
me know if you need absolutely anything at all. Enjoy the rest of your day.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class=MsoNormal>
<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'><span
style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>Mena<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">SEND<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You’re a hoe!<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That’s “Soon to be married to
the boss” hoe to you Mr. Grey Matter. Have some respect for the woman that’s
about to stand behind a very great man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why didn’t you send a picture
of you in nothing but nipple tassels? That might have been a tad more subtle.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You lack class Brain.
Everyone knows men are more interested in what they can’t see. I’m luring him
in slowly. Creating opportunities for him to get to know me and realize that
his life has been nothing but a sham filled with random unattractive women before
moi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I pirry you. You know most
office relationships don’t work out?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That’s because most office
relationships revolve around mediocre members of staff falling in love over Indomie
snack boxes. That is not my portion. I
have done extensive research on Boss guy and the minimum standard I can expect
is Sky lounge even on a broke day. Believe me; it will be easy to keep the love
fires burning when they are being fanned by paper money in foreign
denominations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hoe!<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Inconsequential organ!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">PING<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Uhhhhh…Brain he’s responded
already!!!!!!!! He feels it too Brain. He feels the attraction that cannot be
denied. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You sicken me.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I wonder if he has cool
family members that will be down with flying to the Cayman’s for our wedding.
I’ve already removed all my non-English speaking relatives from my invitation
list and anyone who has trouble pronouncing the letters T, R and S. Maybe I
should…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ARE YOU GOING TO READ THE
DAMN THING?!!<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Brain! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Really! This behavior does
not become you. Fine lets see what future hubhub has to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'><span
style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>Mena!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class=MsoNormal>
<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'><span
style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'><span
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>This is <u>VERY</u> late!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><i style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mena!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</span></i></div>
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<i style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> This is <u>VERY</u> late!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yessssss… It might be a tad
late but what’s with all the exclamation marks?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Werrin happen? No be webinar or dey share
money for the place?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hahahahahahahahaha…Iyawo oga.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Where the love letter dey?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ok Mena. Deep breaths. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lets read on. There may be
terms of endearment further along.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why
did you even bother to send this? I mean come on! It doesn’t require a modicum
of intelligence to realize that if the seminar was yesterday I wouldn’t need
this today now would I. Yesterday…Today!
You do know the difference between the past and the present don’t you? Huh? Do
you Mena because I am truly at a loss for words. </span></i><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">You
will learn and you will learn fast that I do not tolerate this sort of slap
dash, slow thinking </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT', serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">behaviour</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Bodoni MT', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> on my team. </span></span></i></div>
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<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'><span
style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>Why
did you even bother to send this? I mean come on! It doesn’t require a
modicum of intelligence to realize that if the seminar was yesterday I wouldn’t
need this today now would I. <span style='mso-spacerun:yes'> </span>Yesterday…Today!
You do know the difference between the past and the present don’t you? Huh?
Do you Mena because I am truly at a loss for words.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class=MsoNormal>
<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'><span
style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>You
will learn and you will learn fast that I do not tolerate this sort of slap
dash, slow thinking behavior on my team. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Jesu! My own don finish. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Slow thinking? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Modicum of intelligence? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Is he calling me stupid?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:
normal'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>However
I’m a survivor and I’m going to make it. I survived this little incident
you managed to create with your lack of forward thinking. I suggest you
ensure that I have no cause to attempt to survive any other Mena created
fiasco’s while we are working together. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify'>
<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:
normal'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>For
time being enjoy your leave and we’ll discuss some of the worrying issues
that my PA has brought to light regarding your proposals, when you return.<span
style='mso-tab-count:1'> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify'>
<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:
normal'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>Regards<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify'>
<i style='mso-bidi-font-style:
normal'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Bodoni MT","serif"'>Boss
Guy<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At all. He’s considering nominating you
for the Nobel Peace Prize for nuclear physics…Hahahahahaha<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">However
I’m a survivor and I’m going to make it. I survived this little incident you
managed to create with your lack of forward thinking. I suggest you ensure that
I have no cause to attempt to survive any other Mena created fiasco’s while we
are working together. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For
time being enjoy your leave and we’ll discuss some of the worrying issues that
my PA has brought to light regarding your proposals, when you return. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Regards<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Boss
Guy<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What just happened? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why’s he quoting Destiny’s
Child lyrics at me? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Does this mean no Sky Lounge and
Cayman Island wedding again?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">BRAIN WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Boooooooooooo hooooooooooo…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And Bad Weave…That cow has somehow
figured out my proposal scam and ratted me out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">How? How could this happen? I’ve
only been gone 2 days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Stop feeling sorry for
yourself and let me think. There must be a way out of this mess with your
Destiny Child Groupie, bipolar boss. You might be ok living with your loony
toon mother and driving a Rio but this piece of grey matter was meant for
bigger things and that’s not going to happen if you’re unemployed.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Chineke! Who said anything
about being unemployed again?!!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Boo Hoooooooooooooooo…He is gonna
fire me isn’t he? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Maybe I should send a picture
of me in nothing but nipple tassels? Oh Brain what are we gonna do?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-63678478593458902562012-07-03T12:55:00.000+01:002012-07-03T12:55:48.172+01:00The Boss 1.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
It’s been a while huh?<br />
<br />
I know.<br />
<br />
I’ve been depressed waiting for the axe to fall on my professional life.<br />
<br />
My ibi ise finally discovered that I’d only ever written one actual proposal since joining the company and that the many hours I spend in the office are actually taken up with the planning of my 5 star Cayman Island wedding and cyber stalking potential husbands on Linked in.<br />
<br />
Digressing…It’s amazing no one has ever seen the potential of Linked In as a dating tool.<br />
<br />
<i><b>That’s because they’re normal and they know cyber stalking is illegal.</b></i><br />
<br />
Shut it Brain! It’s not like I come up with these ideas by myself so stop acting all superior. Anyway this is Naija. Nothing is illegal unless you get caught.<br />
<br />
I love my country; not like those UK people that will be sending you threatening emails if you accidently try to find naked pictures of Idris Elba online.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, I set up an account as Mena Oil and Gas (MOG) and lured several potential hotties on dates under the pretext of interviewing them for senior mgt roles. I know some of you may think this is unethical…Raising young men’s hopes by promising them a lucrative career with perks and bonuses that could turn Ricky Martin straight but in the end I’m truly helping them to achieve the most important goal in their lives…A good wife aka me. <span style="background-color: white;">Not to mention that’s what men do to women all the time. They promise us marriage with all the perks…Jewellery on our birthday, foreign holidays twice a year but what happens? We’re lucky if they take us up the aisle at all and let us go to their village for Christmas. So stop moaning. We all get what we deserve in the end. And let me just warn you people now, if Linked In should suddenly receive an anonymous tip off and shut down my page...I WILL FIND YOU!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
I mean this the perfect solution for my man woes. Not only do I get to find out if their current salary bracket can keep me in Loubies, I also get to see how they react under intense Mena pressure. I’ve been dating aka interviewing one guy for a week or two now. Naturally he doesn’t know we’re dating but really that’s just a minor detail.<br />
<br />
Everything was going fine until my key candidate pointed out that he didn’t think a darkened cinema was the appropriate environment for a 3rd stage interview. I told him it was a cognitive test to rate his attention skills and there would be a multiple choice test afterwards. Making him hold my hand was to test his level of compassion for his co-workers. He gave me a dubious look just as the lights were going down but he didn’t try to disengage his bear like paw from my dainty hands.<br />
<br />
What?! I said he was hot, I didn’t say anything about him being bright.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Yep! You sure know how to pick em.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b><br />
Wetin be your own? I go watch Snow White, chop popcorn and hold hand tire.<br />
<br />
I like this guy but he’s too suspicious jo. Always… questioning my actions.<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>“Why are you taking a bb picture of us sitting together?”</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>“Why are you calling me at 2am because you had a bad dream?”</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>“Why do we have to go to Kings of comedy together?”</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>“Why do you keep calling me Pookie when my name is Chukwu Emeka?”</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
I mean come on!!!! Does he want to be my husband or not?<br />
<br />
<b><i>Errr…No. He wants the seven figure salary and Ikoyi pent house you promised in your ad.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b><br />
We all want that dear but do we all deserve it?<br />
<br />
Not sure how much longer I can keep using new fangled psychometric testing to get him to hang out with me? I might have to break the news to him after the movie that he’s not MOG material and move unto the next victim. <br />
<br />
<i><b>I’m sure he’ll be heart broken</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i><br />
Sticks and stones Brain.<br />
<br />
Anyway back to the matter at hand. You might be wondering how it’s taken them 2 years to figure out that I am less than competent to earn a salary. Truth be told, once you notice that someone can barely read the front page of a newspaper before losing interest, you kinda realize they’re not going to read a 50+ page proposal cover to cover. So a new cover page and executive summary equates to 30 minutes work, 6 hours 30mins on Knot.com and a steady pay check. Genius right? No be me teach you sha.<br />
<br />
Everything was going just fine until the annoying sod who I reported to decided to retire. I mean you work in place for 15 years you might as well just make yourself comfortable and sit tight till the sweet chariot comes forth to carry you home abi? But no…some people are just damn inconsiderate. Anyway retirement meant new boss.<br />
<br />
Initially I wasn’t too fussed, especially when I saw him come in for his interview. Not baaaadddddd. I could imagine the hot boss, sessy training manager hook up over late night strategy meetings already. Shame I’d be on leave when he actually started. Maybe I should postpone my leave as I can already see Bad Weave salivating as she adjusts her …I think it’s a wig; either that or a grass cutter crawled out of the forest and died on her head. Nope nothing to worry about here. The other office spinsters ain't got nothing on me. I shall go on leave and come back refreshed and ready to lure Boss guy into my exotic web.<br />
<br />
Kinda feel sorry for him.<span style="background-color: white;">The poor guy doesn't know what’s about to happen.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
I think we’re destined to be because just before I go on leave I was asked to help register him for some training courses. We exchanged a few flirty emails, with him gushing over the fact that I was sooo helpful. So I went off on leave feeling all floaty and optimistic about my triumphant return to work in new Loubies to seduce Boss guy. Something in snake skin with a wedge hee methinks.<br />
<br />
If only I knew then what I know now I might have saved myself the trauma of a colonic and the rude text message from GT Bank about trying to use my card at Chanel when I have no money in my account. I would have stayed in Las Gidi to defend my flat but delicate ass.</div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-42805905485886368522011-10-10T16:58:00.000+01:002011-10-10T16:58:09.548+01:00Mena no go baje<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #595856; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #595856; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Damn it!</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #595856; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I'm trying to see how long I can go without having an impure thought and so far I’ve only lasted 12 seconds. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be pure and wholesome? I’m never going to marry my pastor at this rate. The “How to holify yourself for marriage” manual clearly states “A pastors wife needs to be able to maintain at least 120 mins of uninterrupted pure thought a day”.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> I’ve been practicing for 3 days and I’m averaging an additional 4 seconds per day before something p’s me off or I get my recurring man in a thong fantasy(I don’t even like thongs and yet I can’t stop thinking about them now). At this rate I won’t achieve pastor wife status for another 4 years or so.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!!! Boo Hoo</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I could be dead from non-nuptials syndrome by then.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Maybe I’m thinking about it too much and I need to focus on other things. That’s it… I’m going to relax and do things to make my life better. Be more pro-active in creating a nicer environment for myself so I’m not constantly plagued by evil thoughts; and I know just where to start.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Brain take a memo.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Dear Uncle Fash,</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">You might think me calling you Uncle Fash is a bit forward seeing as we’ve never met but I waited 2 hours under the blistering sun to vote for you. Even the toning cream I’ve been using hasn’t restored my skin to its former glory after that experience so I think I have earned the right to call you Uncle Fash.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Uncle Fash … What’s up with this bridge on Ozumba now? I used to enjoy cackling to myself as I zoomed past my colleagues attempting to make their way unto the Falomo Bridge…Oh happy days (You might think that’s mean Uncle Fash but truly they are not very nice people and deserve to be laughed at). But I can’t laugh anymore Uncle Fash...No I cannot. My laughter has shriveled up inside me because I now need every ounce of energy I can summon to maneuver my manual car home through the traffic on Adeyemo Alakija/Akin Adesola. The other day my usual 5 minute journey took me an hour and 20 minutes. Why now Uncle Fash?</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I'm a fine girl with an ample frame but lovely sinewy limbs. My limbs are no longer sinewy Uncle Fash. My legs have now started to develop thick muscles fondly known as yams and I have acquired a nervous tic on the right side of my body from struggling with Danfo drivers trying to cut into my lane. <span style="background: white;">Did I mention I was single Uncle Fash? Young, fine and single but now all people will see are the tuber sized muscles bulging out of my skinny jeans as I nervously tic away.</span></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Not only am I being disfigured by your new bridge, I am also missing out on potential dating action. All attempts to get eligible young men to pick me up from home for our dates are now met with phrases like “Ah! Babe…that your street go hard on a Friday night o. You no fit hop okada and I go jam you at the venue?” Now I don’t want you thinking I hang out with non-queens English speaking suitors. The date in question was a Harvard law graduate who was reduced to local vernacular at the thought of being stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for hours just take me out on a date; where he would be required to drop money for at least one bottle of pink champagne. You too pity him now.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">As a regular tax payer and ardent supporter of your fine self I don’t think its too much to ask for you to buy a few more bags of cement and just kuku ma curve the bridge all the way down to Ikoyi. They are rich in ikoyi and can afford automatic cars or at least drivers to develop the yams on their behalf. Some people might say I’m being selfish and that traffic is a necessary evil that affects us all. Don't mind them Uncle Fash. Those people are not God fearing. My God fearing brothers and sister would not want me to suffer like this. They would want me to able to wear short skirts in the summer and not have children chasing me down the road calling me "Aunty Warapa" because of my tic.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I know you are a good man who will not allow his governmental decisions to be dictated by heathens. So come tomorrow morning I expect to see a bridge closed sign and nubile young men mixing concrete for my ingenious bridge extension idea. No fall my hand o. <span style="background: white;">Don’t worry me and my other single, manual car driving friends will support you come election time. Not to mention the special invite to my wedding once the yams go down and I catch a man. </span></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Uncle Fash Fash!!!!! Eko no go baje.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Your ever loyal constituent</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Mena</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="background: white; color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br />
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<!--[endif]--></span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #595856; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">PS: Do you have any vacancies in that your office? </span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></span><br />
</div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-42189092653796142622011-10-07T16:56:00.000+01:002011-10-07T16:56:14.003+01:00Revelations in love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I'm in church.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Normally this really shouldn’t be too much of a surprise but it’s a Wednesday evening and we all know my commitment to my Christian life get the occasional “K” leg. But drastic times call for drastic measures. The re-emergence of Hmm Dude and other dodgy male acquaintances in my life leads me to believe I require spiritual intervention.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, seems I’m not the only one requiring intervention as church is pretty crowded. Naturally, old habits die hard and I can’t help but cast my “Single, fine boy” radar round the room. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>ALERT! TARGET ACQUIRED! </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I can spot a lonesome cutie towards the front of the hall. I adjust what my mama gave me and head towards the empty seat next to him. <span> </span>Suddenly my sessy spider senses start tingling and from the corner of my eye I spot another desperate single lady heading towards him on the opposite aisle. She catches my eye and we both give each other the once over. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We Man Eaters…We know ourselves. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She’s slimmer than me, very few might say prettier and those might even be real LV alligator platforms she’s wearing but I’ve got something she hasn’t… flat shoes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Take that sister! <span> </span>I think as I start to power walk towards the prize.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Chia! This seat far o and Alligator Heels seems to be one of those annoying sisters who can run a marathon in heels. Damn my mother and her “No heels till you graduate rule”. I’m starting to lose my breath and beads of sweat are beginning to collect on my dainty nose. This is not good. Not the first impression I want to give the cutie but no time to stop and get a tissue out of my bag now; Alligator Heels is only 2 strides behind me. I know my mother and every self respecting lady would pass out in horror right now but I don’t care as I use my hands to wipe my sweaty face and rub them on the back of my dress.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Mennnnaaa!</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Story. Na u go marry me?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ah ha! Alligator girl just stumbled over a cable. Thank u Lord for signs and wonders. This bobo is mine. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just as I come up to his row and make to sit down….the devil strikes</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Hello Madam can you sit on this row please?” says a stern looking usher blocking my path.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Damn it!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ushers!!! Why are they always getting in my way?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I contemplate carrying out some evasive maneuvers and plunking myself down on my seat of choice. Its not like she can’t forcibly remove me from the seat or can she?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I give her the once over…She looks hard and I haven’t eaten today. So I decided not to try her and do the next best thing…Lie</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Sorry... That’s my brother. He’s holding the sit for me.” I say, giving her my best “God fearing sister” look</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">God forgive me. God forgive me. God forgive me. God forgive me. God forgive me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh no! Alligator Heels has beaten me to it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She gives me a smug look as she comes in under the usher radar on the opposite side; sidling past other people on the row to plunk herself next to him. The hussy has already even pretended to drop her bible and now she’s giggling as he hands it back to her.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The girl is not even smooth. That’s sooooo been done.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Bad bele!</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Wo’eva</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Are you sure that’s your brother?” Asks the usher looking quizzically at me</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Kilode?! Na you get monopoly on brothers or what?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Seems to have let your seat go.<span> </span>Boys will be boys huh?” she says laughing</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hissss….Komot for road my friend. Enemy of romantic progress.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I seat down on the row she indicted earlier and I’m already distressed as the guy seating next to me with the Kid and Play haircut circa 1980, feels the need to introduce himself. I immediately pretend to be deep in prayer to avoid further conversation. <span> </span>To make matters worse; I’m going to be smack bang in the middle of the pastor’s line of sight. I hate being too close to the podium. I’m always scared pastors can read my thoughts and they can see the sin just radiating off my body. Now I’ll actually have to listen instead of fantasizing about what I would buy if God rewards me for paying my tithes by leaving money on the road for me to find.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The choir finally stops singing and I can hear the pastor saying “Hello” so I figure it’s safe to open my eyes. Highly unlikely the chap sitting next to me will engage in convo during the sermon. So I raise my head and look up into the most mesmerizing pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Haaaa!!! What have I been doing in church all these months? How come I never noticed how cute the pastor was? I really must stop sitting so far back.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He‘s preaching and staring straight at me like we’re the only 2 people in the room.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Errrr…I think you’ll find he’s staring into the camera right above your head and not you.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Shut it Brain.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Can’t you see?! This isn’t a coincidence. Everything that’s been happening has led us to this point in time when I would come face to face with my destiny.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>OK you’re talking crazy now or should I say crazier than usual. Your blood sugar must be low…Eat some gum.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sod the gum. I’m busy listening to the man who’s going make my mama’s dreams come true.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I can hardly contain my excitement. My sis Annoying Married Chick goes to the same church and she did say she would be here for evening service. I look around but I don’t see her, so I decide to send her a bb message.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>MENA:</b> Hey sis just had a revelation. I’ve been so blind. What I’ve been looking for has been right under my nose all this time. God was just waiting for me to make a stronger commitment to my spiritual side.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>AMC: </b>Stop bbing in church you sinner. What are you on about? What stronger commitment?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>MENA: </b>Coming to mid week service.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>AMC:</b> Hisss…You’ve come to one mid-week service. Big deal. Your mates are shaving their heads and sleeping in church.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>MENA:</b> Wo'eva. <span> </span>God has revealed my man to me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>AMC:</b> *Yawn* Who? The badly dressed man you and your over bleached sister in asewo behavior were running to go and sit next to? You think I didn’t see you? You’re just an embarrassment. Thank God I’ve changed my last name.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>MENA:</b> Pleeeeeeaassse *Eyes Rolling*. She can have him. The pastor is in a whole different league*Love Struck*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>AMC:</b> Sorry did you say the pastor? That’s your God sent man?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>MENA:</b> Yep *Big Smile*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>AMC: </b>*Surprise*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All of a sudden my bbing and the pastor’s sermon is cut short by the sound of hysterical laughter coming from the back of the church. I can see ushers rushing over but whoever it is can’t seem to stop laughing. <span> </span>Next thing I know, I see my sister - Annoying Married Chick, practically being carried out of the church cause she’s laughing so hard she can hardly stand.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Philistine! Can you imagine being so frivolous in the house of God? The girl obviously has brain touch. Thank God she does have a different last name. Not sure the church council would approve of such inappropriate family members when I'm presented as the soon to be Mrs.Pastor. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What could have been so funny anyway? </div></div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-38462283496593009212011-09-29T16:42:00.000+01:002011-09-29T16:42:28.484+01:00Hmmm...Not you again dude.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I'm</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;"> more or less perfect? Well, I decided to treat myself to a new head of hair.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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!!!</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Only one way to find out blubber gut. Go on...Drink a lil’ peepee.</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">I’m gonna do it dammit! </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;"><b>Attagirl!</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Phew! Saved from my own stupidity. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;"><b>Chicken!</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Cluck off Brain!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Infidel! I miss the good old days when you could have people drawn and quartered for less.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">I open up the bag to make sure my hair smelt salon fresh and my heart suddenly developed an irregular rhythm. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Ahhhhh!!!! What is this?</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">I immediately pick up the phone and call my hairdresser.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">No answer.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;"> So I fire off a text...</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Floooooooooooooooooooooorencceee! You have started your madness again abi?</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">What is dis U have sent through Mr. Fortune?</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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?</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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!</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Send.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Delivered.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">I immediately dispatch Mr. Fortune back to the hairdressers with instructions to stop by my place and pick up a MOPO. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">He is instructed not to return until my hair has been retrieved either through peaceful or truncheon bashing means. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">Nonsense girl. Trying to kill me for my mama. No one kidnaps my hair and gets away with it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">My phone beeps. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Blood of Jesus!” I scream as I chuck the phone across the room hitting Boli Lover square in the face.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">“My face” he yells</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Oh God! My nose! This is blood abi? Look now its blood. You’ve broken my nose you crazy woman.”</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">I ignore his screaming. A small crowd is starting to gather round his desk as I make a break for the ladies.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Oh Lord! I can’t breathe. What the hells going on?</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">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! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">Who have I offended o?!</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">How the hell did he find me? Which evil so called mutual friend would do this to me?</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;">And what the hell does he want now?</span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13.5pt;">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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">straight right now. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13.5pt;"> 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.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt;"><br />
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</div></div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-67698985679159296862011-09-14T14:17:00.000+01:002011-09-14T14:17:40.101+01:00Just Cruising<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The other day I was cruising along…yes I drive now.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Would hardly call what you do driving. More like…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Shut it Brain! Was I talking to you?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do I not know how to start the car?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Well yes…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Does it not move when I press the thingy-ma-jig under my feet?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Yes but…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Do we not eventually reach our destination with minimal damage to both human life and private property?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>You ran over an okada<o:p></o:p></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">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?)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>You ran him off the road and then reversed over his bike.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Look! I honked and he wouldn’t move, so I just nudged him a little so I could get past.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Your little nudge flung him off his bike and into a gutter.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Jeez… All this drama. Like gutter water ever killed anybody.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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! <span> </span>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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t know why you’re worried about him? What about poor Consuela? My darling lil’Kia baby.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Lord! It’s a piece of Japanese metal on wheels woman.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Hush your mouth you evil thing. How dare you say such things about Consuela? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My baby got her paintwork all scratched trying to get away from the okada guy and his tyre wielding lynch mob.<span> </span>Honestly you have a slight traffic incident and suddenly everyone wants to do a “Joan of Arc” on you.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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<span> </span>and<span> </span>zoom round the corner onto Ozumba Mbadiwe…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…Straight into the back of a Range Rover Sport in standstill traffic.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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??!!!! <span> </span>Whoever owns this car is going to sue my Marks and Spencer heart print granny knickers right off me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Judging by the personalized plates, the name stitched unto his polo shirt and the huge identity bracelet on his wrist; <span> </span>the guy getting out of the Jeep with a face like thunder was Lami. Hmm…not bad.<span> </span>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? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>How can you think about men at a time like this? <o:p></o:p></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">What do you mean? Is there an inappropriate time to think about men? Especially buff ones that drive Jeeps? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Err…yeah! Right now! <o:p></o:p></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Just chillax and watch the master at work. We ain't paying a dime.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Lami right? I’m so sorry. I just don’t know what happened”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He backs away in shock, his eyes darting around in panic. I swear the guy broke out in a cold sweat.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"I don’t know you.<span> </span>How do you know my name?"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Errrr…You're practically a working sign board for yourself mate. <span> </span>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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Hey! What are you doing?!" I yell</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"You’re one of the girls from Fantasy Bar aren’t you? I recognize you…Booby Baby right?"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ori re ko pe? <span> </span>Ta ni Booby Baby?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"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?"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He then proceeds to chuck me on the shoulder and wink at me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How the hell did he find me?!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">“Madam wine down. Wine down now, now!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Can today get any worse? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don't have time for this now.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I must find this so called "Fantasy Bar" and confront this menace to my reputation at once. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So fess up...Who knows where it is?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-73974108970681747742011-02-23T13:57:00.001+00:002011-02-23T14:07:51.153+00:00Teacher can I be your pet? 2<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">BB Convo Participants … Mena, Annoying Married Chick and Iyawo Peanut Boy<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> Hi guys. Guess what? I’m stuck in training all day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> 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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> Charming as always sister dearest. I see pregnancy hasn’t improved your surly attitude.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> *Raspberry*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> Ireti. Anyway u’ll never guess what just happened?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> Don’t care. Need food. Need light. Need to live on the island *Crying*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IPB:</b> 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*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> 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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> 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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> You have brain touch AMC. Please stop talking trash around my unborn niece/nephew</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IPB:</b> 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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> 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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IPB:</b> 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*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> Kiss my arse *Raspberry*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> 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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> 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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IPB:</b> Mena ignore her. You might not be young and perky anymore but you don’t have to sell yourself short.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> Wow IPB! Thanks. Just what every woman wants to hear *Sarcy Face*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> *ROTFL* I beg you people don’t kill me. All this laughing is making me want to pee.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> 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*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IPB:</b> You see what you’ve done AMC? You’ve upset her.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> 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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IPB:</b> Mena are you still there? Don’t be mad. I apologise for both AMC and myself.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> Speak for yourself o. I haven’t done anything. Only telling the truth. Tick, tock…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> 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?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>IPB: </b>Early 30's???? Sister please!!!!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> Pretty much. Men are scarce. Get what you can…Bogey eater or not.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IPB:</b> 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*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena:</b> I rebuke such. I have a list of wants and I intend to stick to them.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> *Sigh* I’ve heard your wants and let me just tell you that you go wait tire.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena: </b>*Talk to the hand*</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IPB:</b> 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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">AMC:</b> She get choice? Look you’re starting to embarrass the family. Just lure one home already will ya?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IPB:</b> Hey are you still there? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><b>PING!</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“You’re not paying attention” he says looking at my bb and then back at me with a smile.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I am. I’m multi-tasking” I say with a giggle, fluttering my eyelashes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">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.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Calm down Brain lets not be too hasty. But I do think you’re right.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He did…A little white card with his number and the 4 little words every girl longs to hear “Make sure you call.”</div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-8937981639801344662011-02-23T09:36:00.001+00:002011-02-23T09:54:19.099+00:00Teacher can I be your pet?<div class="MsoNormal">Hey! Whys the alarm going off? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Its Saturday dammit! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">No we can’t Mena. We having training remember?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Training ke?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Well …<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Shut up</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">But…<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="apple-style-span"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Mo ri omoge to rewa to duro shepe shepe figure 8 shepe shepe figure 8</span></i></b></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Orombo aya re o dun ji osan lo</span><br />
<br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Olomoge dance with your chest,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Dig it right, dig it left o ya oya were were Ki a mosa</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">Jowo dance with your chest</span></span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, serif; font-size: x-small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="apple-style-span">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.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Brain!!! Why have you stopped singing and why are my eyes still open?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena, you know we’ll get into trouble if we don’t go?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">So?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">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.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Boo Hooo!!!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">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.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sniff…Really? That would be fun. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">OK, I’ll go but the minute anyone mentions the word “Role play” we’re faking a seizure and getting outta there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Deal.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally Trainer Chappy walks in apologizing profusely for being late.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yeah wo’eva mate. Just switch on the projector and do your traini…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Aye Caramba!!!!!<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Brain I hear you o. Who be this?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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???!!!!! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mena, we shall remain calm and lady like.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"> 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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Olodo! If you had a hanky why didn’t you use it in the first place??? What do you think they are for? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I despair at the caliber of men that constantly cross my path.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-51883870987933082302011-02-17T14:47:00.001+00:002011-02-17T14:47:22.354+00:00The Terminator comes to town<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Damn! It’s an answering machine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“<i>This is the Terminator. Having problems with your weight? Constant battles with food? Can’t motivate yourself to exercise?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wow, this guy reading our mind Brain and he sounds sexy too. American drawl, not the razzo I was expecting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Well calling me was the right thing to do because you’re obviously a LAZY, FAT BASTARD! …<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ah ah! Wetin happen? Na fight?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> GET UP SLACKER! ITS TIME TO FEEL THE BURN! YOU WILL NOT BE A ROLLING TUB OF LARD IN LAS GIDI ON MY WATCH…<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mena hang up. I’m scared.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m scared too Brain. Why is he shouting at his potential customers?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> … 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!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Beep.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">God forbid. I ain’t leaving my details with him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You’re right Brain.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Err.. sorry Terminator wrong number. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Click</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">5 minutes later I’m snuggled up in bed with my tub of milky love about to watch Top Chef and …</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Rrrriiiiinnnnng</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Darn it! Who’s calling me now?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Hello”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“This the Terminator. You rang” says a deep, masculine voice</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Darn caller id. Its OK. We can wiggle out of this.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Really?! Sorry must have dialed the wrong number.” I say</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Don’t lie to me lady and put down the food.” he responds</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jesus! I said looking around to make sure he hadn’t magically appeared in bed with me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“How did you know I was eating?” I asked</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“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.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Warrup joker? You put jazz for mouth?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“But I don’t want you to come to my house at 6am and more importantly, I don’t do Lycra.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“You don’t know what you want Lady.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I don’t?” I ask puzzled.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“No you don’t. You want a strong man to mould you into the woman you were meant to be, don’t you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Moulding? Hmmm…Would that involve the strong man touching the aforementioned woman?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mena resist. He’s using some kind of mind mumbo jumbo on us.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, now Brain. Let’s not be hasty. Let’s hear what our friendly neighborhood personal trainer has to say first.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, where the hell am I supposed to find a tight Lycra gym bunny outfit at 10pm at night? </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" /> </span> </span><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I’ll have to see if my mother has something lurking around in her winter holiday wardrobe.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Muuuummmmmmy” I whine as I drag myself into her room and flop on the bed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“What do you want?” she snaps.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Charming as ever.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Do you have a pair of lycra leggings?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“What colour?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Does it matter?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Yes” she says getting off of the bed and throwing open one of her wardrobes to reveal a shelf of multicolored Lycra heaven.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Mummy why do you have so many pairs of leggings?!” I exclaim</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Your father likes us to have Disco Fever Night every once in a while.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ask a stupid question… Of course that’s what they’re for. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I just need a black pair mum.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“What for? You do know it will be tight for you don’t you?” She says giving me a ‘Respect yourself’ look.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Yeah I know but my trainer says he wants tight.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Trainer? Really? That’s interesting. Been thinking about getting myself one “she says proceeding to do some star jumps.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Agbaya. Showing off to her own daughter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Maybe we should share?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“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.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Owww!!! Mum you promised no violence in the New Year. You swore on the Bible now!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Me I can’t handle the pace en? You that you need oxygen every time you climb up the stairs are telling me; </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wo’eva. That was like 100 years ago woman. I beg lets hear word.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“We shall see!” she says dropping to the floor to do one arm push ups.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What the…! Darn this woman is freaky strong. No wonder her slaps hurt so much.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Definitely keeping her away from Terminator so she doesn’t upstage me.</span></span>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-12184220823064769752011-02-17T11:06:00.001+00:002011-02-17T11:09:38.241+00:00Here comes the bride. All fat and wide…<div class="MsoNormal">I promised myself there would be no blogging this year. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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<sup>st</sup> 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?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Huh?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do you?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I don’t think there’s anybody here Mena. I told you they’d all leave if you didn’t update your blog.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">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?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Errr…you’re talking to me. A grey lump of tissue in your head.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s your point? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Nothing! You’re right. Please do carry on.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Hey stop that!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">I can hear you humming Cypress Hill’s ‘Insane in the membrane’. Bloody ungrateful organ.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shioooooo…Na deliverance not moral compass you need.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Wo’eva just shut up and listen. I really do have to start vetting the caliber of people that come in here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It all started when I went to church…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">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…<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">IF YOU WOULD LET ME FINISH!!!!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You’re shouting at the moral compass? It’s not your fault.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">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?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">See this hell bound child? The sermon was distracting you from mentally undressing innocent men in church?<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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 </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Speak to us sister. Share the message!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I snatched my bag off the floor turned to her and said… </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Bunny!!!!” I screamed down the phone when she answered.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“What’s the matter? Why are you crying?” she asked </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Oh Bunny it’s too awful” I wailed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Oh my God. Don’t tell me it’s finally happened?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Yes it has”…Boo hoo!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“La Perla has gone into recession?!!!!!” she screamed</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Noooo!!!! Will you focus on something other than your lampashing life for five seconds?” I yelled back.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Geez! I really should consider giving her stint in a sex addiction clinic for her next birthday.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Phew! That was a close one. Thought I would actually have to start letting my husband have his way round the house.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“What do you mean?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“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.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hmmm…The crazy ashawo might be on to something here. Nevertheless…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Look can we come back to me please?” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Yeah sure sweetie what’s the matter?” she asked</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I now know why Mr. Right hasn’t found me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Really? Pray do tell.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“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. ”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Boo Hoo!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Lord! Not this malarkey again” she says sighing down the phone.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">En! E mi malarkey? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“What did you just say to me? And did you just sigh?” I asked.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“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!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Why are you shouting at meeeeeeee….Ahhhhhh aaaahhhh....Sooooooobbbbbbbbb!!!!! It’s not my fault I'm a fatty bum bum...” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Snotty sniffing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“...It’s the genes.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What the...Brain! Why am I blubbering like a fool? Is this the verbal Hiroshima I asked for?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Dunno<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">“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.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Yes. I know." I said sulkily</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“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…”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Click</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-44521186936121028652010-11-22T13:45:00.001+00:002010-11-22T13:53:40.306+00:00The car made me do it.<div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mena!<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Shhhh...Must you whisper so loudly?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sorry. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sorry for yourself gbeboruns. What part of my mother must not find me did you not get? Please don’t use your need for gist to spoil my own.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We’ve said sorry now. O ya tell us what happened.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, after deciding on my strategy, I put my plan into motion. I lured my mama into a false sense of security by snuggling up with her and having a Walton family moment. I pretended to enjoy Tinsel for 15 minutes and then I told her I was going to go for a brisk stroll round the block and check on the car to make sure it was all ready to go.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>And the idea of you strolling briskly anywhere didn't get her alarm bells ringing?<b> </b></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><b><br />
</b></i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Unlike you lot, she trusts me...Most of the time anyway.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">My mother beamed at me and said... </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I’m so proud of you Mena. You’ve really grown up and I’m glad you’ve decided to take this situation in your stride. I love you darling.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Huh? Did she just say the “L” word?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ay Caramba! We’re going to hell!!!!<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Shut it Brain! No ones going to hell. Well some people are but we aren’t. God understands we need to do this.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Really? Kind of missed the whole you can commit arson for personal gain part of the Bible. Anyway she said she loved us. She never says that. I want to be loved Mena. Let’s succumb to the love and drive the jalopy.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Hmmm…I did feel all warm and fuzzy inside but then I thought about the shame of having to drive that disaster to work on Monday and I hardened my heart.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I nipped outside and took a sneaky look around to make sure no one was watching. I then proceeded to spritz a generous amount of perfume on the worn foot mat, surrounding upholstery and attempted to start the car.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">3 attempts later; all sweaty and out of breath, the bloody thing finally splutters into life. At this point I lit a match and dropped it on the foot mat and waited for the car to build up some smoke and maybe a few tiny flames. The plan was to run screaming into the house to tell my mother that as I tried to start the car, there was an almighty spark from the wiring dangling from beneath the steering wheel and I barely made it out of the car with my toes intact. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We would grab the fire extinguisher from the kitchen and put out the mini flames. She would realize she had almost lost her baby in a fiery ball of flames and she would immediately have the car scrapped and buy me my jeep. Ahhh yes! I’m a genius. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THAT’S YOUR INGENIOUS PLAN?! My five year old could come up with a better plan than that.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Well I’m not interested in what your snotty nosed, MENSA wannabe, 5 year old can do. So stop interrupting.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My lips are sealed. I can’t wait to see how this plan of your pans out.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, the damn foot mat just refused to catch fire. So I ended up pouring almost half a bottle of my Black Orchid by Tom Ford on it (Well worth the waste if my plan succeeds) but nada. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">It’s a sign from God Mena. Let’s just forget about this and go inside and eat some Blue Bunny. You know how much you love Blue Bunny? We’ll slip into something comfortable, turn down the lights, turn the dial to Smooth FM and just have our naughty way with that tub of ice-cream.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Be quiet you food tramp. I’m trying to save us from a future of ridicule here. I don’t want to hear one more peep out of you. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I struck another match…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>I don’t think you should …</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">BRAIN! BE QUIET!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I throw it into the car and I was just about to give up and go get some kerosene when there was an almighty bang and a ginormous fire ball comes out the car door, singeing off my eyebrows and knocking me to the ground. Is that burning weave I smell?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Naturally the noise and flames has everyone, including my mother, running outdoors, only to find me lying on the ground by the burning car with melted weave running down my face like tar and a box of matches in my hand. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hmmm...This does not bode well for my future. Brain, maybe if we lay really, really still no one will notice how suspicious this all looks.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Brain?! Are you still there? Oh my God! Maybe the explosion has jarred something loose up there. I probably have only 70% brain function or something left. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I doubt you had that much to begin with you twisted fire starter.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Speak to me Brain! SPEAK TO MEEEEEEE!!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Now you want to talk to me huh? When the sh.. hits the fan then you want to hear from good ol'Brain. Well kiss my grey matter. You want to know what do? Just jump in the burning car and end it all now. Believe me, it would be the humane thing to do because I’ve never seen your mother turn red before and is that a vein throbbing in her forehead? Yep! Ending your life in a fiery furnace would be a piece of cake compared to whatever she has in store for you. And for the record, I just want to say; a woman like you should not be allowed to roam the streets and thank God you didn’t have a chance to reproduce and populate the earth with more stupid people like yourself. <o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Ok, you can insult me all you want later. Right now we need to figure out a way to get out of here before mother loses interest in saving her Prado and the house.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So whilst everyone was focused on dousing out the flames (which weren’t as bad as the initial fire ball led us to believe), I snuck into my fathers study and I’ve been hiding under his desk ever since. I could hear my mother calling my name interjected with words and statements that the blogger people would never let me print. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I found some kola nut and a bottle of Peach schnapps in his desk drawer. I figure if I nibble on it sparingly I might be able to survive under here for a week, only leaving the safety of the desk for bathroom emergencies. Either that or I’ll get so drunk on the Peach Schnapps I wont even care if she finds me and drags me naked behind her Prado, through the streets of Lagos. </div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-68212385522073411322010-11-18T10:38:00.002+00:002010-11-18T12:46:59.857+00:00When bad cars make good people do bad things.<div class="MsoNormal">Psssttt…Yes you! Come here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Mena? Is that you?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>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?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>What have you done now Mena? </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Me???!!! Why does everyone always think stuff is my fault? I’m the injured party in this fiasco.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Really?! So how come you’re the one in hiding.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m sure you’re all wondering what happened? How did your great heroine,Mena,come to be in this position?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, after I was introduced to the metal harbinger of death, I tried to reason with my mother…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That didn’t work.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What would her friends think if they saw me in that tin can? She had to consider the family rep.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She just yawned, scratched her bum and continued watching Real Housewives of Orange County.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Brain! I think we might be unto a winner here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">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.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Thanks for the support Brain!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eventually her mental cogs ground to a halt. She turned to look at me and said...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“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.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">2 hours later…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Think Brain! Think! There has to be a way to get out of this.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">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?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Gas?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">That’s just charming. And what finishing school did you graduate from missy?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Look we don’t have time for bickering. We need to work together on this. Now focus.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">By Samanja's moustache! I think I’ve got it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Err…No! That’s not it. Lets keep thinking.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>I promise you, this isn’t a good plan. Let’s do some more begging or buy her some rhinestone lace or something.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">It will work. You’ll see. Stop being such a chicken and let’s get to work.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I actually felt pretty bad by the end of it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>But apparently not bad enough to call off your plan we see.</i><b></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Devil daughter. God forgive you.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Story. That evening, operation Bye-bye Banger(BBB) commenced.</div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-28844491486611667182010-11-09T07:57:00.000+00:002010-11-09T07:57:34.302+00:00Back with a banger<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Warrup Peeps?!!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Miss me?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">No?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">The feeling is mutual losers.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><i>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.</i></span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><u1:p></u1:p> <div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><b>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?</b></span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">As for you. Me? Orobo abi???!!!!!! <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>See how people like to start with me?<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span> 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!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><i>En! You dey curse me?</i></span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><i>A man?</i></span><span style="color: black;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><i>Places to go?</i></span><span style="color: black;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><i>Real Auntie Funmi hair?</i></span><span style="color: black;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><i>A lepa body?</i></span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">You’re still here? You’re obviously allergic to lampashing. No probs! Kiss your remaining love ball goodbye.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Wait now! Why are you running? Sex is overrated.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Joker! As I was saying, the one thing missing from my life is a car.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">With my new baffs it would just be wrong for me to be red cabbing and hopping lifts all over the place.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><i>You’re sick!</i></span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Takes one to know one pervo.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Anyway. After numerous pleading text messages, my mother has finally agreed to let me come back home. </span>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?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"Good Mena you’re home. Come and look at your new car." says my mother trying very hard not to laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><i>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?</i></span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Waka!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"You are obviously not ready to come back home. Tony! Escort her out of the gate."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"No! Wait! I’m listening." I say in a resigned tone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"Oya get in the car and let Tony show you how it works." says mummy dearest shoving me towards the rust covered eyesore. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">It looks like its grinning at me and its freaking' me out. Why did I ever read Christine by Stephen King?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">I open the passenger door and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of camphor and damp.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"Mummyyyyyyyy!!!!"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"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."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><i>You! Picanto ke????!!!! You wicked o. You wan kill the car? Na everyday you go dey change suspension</i></span><span style="color: black;"><i>.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">I’m too traumatized to deal with you now.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"Mummmmmyyyyyyyyy!!!!!"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Tony returns my seat to the upright position and asks me to pay attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"Ok Madam! This motor old so na delicate touch you go dey use."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Wo’eva<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"Why does it have 3 pedals? and why is the gear stick funny? What's with all the numbers?" I ask<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"Madam?"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"The 3rd pedal on your left? What's that for?" <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Gee! Am I speaking Mandarin?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"That one na clutch now."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"What’s a clutch? I'm used to just 2 pedals. The accelerator and the break."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">My mother starts giggling hysterically..."Original driver!" <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">I ignore her. I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of getting upset.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"Ah! That one na automatic. This car na manual." says Tony, trying very hard not to laugh as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Manual? As in manual labor? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"Mummy! I can't drive a manual!"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"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"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Tony clears his throat and begins...<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"To start the car you first need to open the bonnet…"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Huh? What the hell is he talking about?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"...turn the key and then…"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">"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."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">You’ve got be kidding me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">I look at him, turn to look at my mother and started to cry.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div></div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-39223285799137854302010-09-23T11:26:00.000+01:002010-09-23T11:26:05.835+01:00RIP Hot Babe 2I should punish you all by not telling you what happened to me but I need sympathy.<br />
<br />
<br />
I am currently tethered to the bed. <br />
<br />
Despite my reassurances to her that the injury will fade with time and TLC, my mother has decided that the only way to resolve the issue of my facial scarring is to give me an all over body toning treatment to ensure that my skin tone is even all over.<br />
<br />
Considering that one half of my face is currently a bright, pinky red colour, you can imagine my panic and the need for her to have me shackled to the bed so I can’t escape. I’m sure you’re still wondering how I got myself into this predicament?<br />
<br />
Well…After delving into murky waters by agreeing to venture out in public with Ladies Man, my antibiotics ladled brain promptly forgot about the whole thing and I decided to have my family over for dinner instead because I love them and enjoy spending time with them.<br />
<br />
<strong>You are tied to the bed in your undies and at the mercy of your very upset mother. You better tell the truth and the let devil be ashamed. So you at least have a chance of making it into heaven if you don't survive your experimental toning session.</strong><br />
<br />
FINE!!! I only invited them round to put smarmy Market Boy in his place. His razz wifey had us over for dinner the weekend before and surprisingly none of us died of food poisoning. The food was rather nice (No way in hell I’m telling her that), the company was tolerable and there was copious amounts of alcohol so their boring conversations didn’t matter so much after the third or so glass of vodka. Anyway he’s been feeling rather smug with himself since then. You would think he flew in Gordon Ramsey to cook the food the way he’s been going on. <br />
<br />
My wife’s so cool! My wife’s so awesome! My wife can crack walnuts between her legs (Well he didn’t actually verbalize that but I know he’s thinking it). Yadda! Yadda! Yadda! Put a sock in it loser. Nobody cares.<br />
<br />
I was just going to ignore him but he called me …<br />
<br />
"<em>Hey Sis!"</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"What do you want? I’m busy."</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"You mean you’re forming busy because you’ve been changing your BB status every 15 minutes. Hardly the actions of someone who is busy."</em><br />
<br />
See why I don’t send his ITK behind? <br />
<br />
<em>"Whatever! Who died and made you BB Gestapo? Did you want something?"</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"Yeah actually. I was just thinking about your manless status the other day and I thought I'd call to give you some moral encouragement."</em><br />
<br />
I just know this isn’t going to go well for one of us.<br />
<br />
<em>"Thanks bro but I’m cool. Don’t need any back patting at the moment."</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"It’s not back patting. It’s more a critical analysis of where you might be going wrong."</em><br />
<br />
Now everyone’s an expert. I know where I’m going wrong mate. They find out I’m related to you and they all make a run for it.<br />
<br />
<em>"That’s very thoughtful of you but like I said…buuuuuuuuuuusssyyy."</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"See that’s part of your problem. Your snide, dismissive attitude.</em>"<br />
<br />
Ah! See me see trouble. Is today international "Your Own No Go Better" day or why is everybody trying to bring me down? It’s only because my ashawo sister claims to love him that I haven’t shown this one my ninja assassin side. Crazy man.<br />
<br />
<em>"I beg your pardon?"</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"You’re too hostile. You need to relax, let your hair down, develop some girly qualities and oh learn to cook like my Buttercup."</em><br />
<br />
Emi?<br />
<br />
Is it that paki, eat rice everyday, went to FGC razzo he’s referring to as Buttercup? Can he possibly be comparing my ethereal self to her? Na lie.<br />
<br />
<em>"I am relaxed, I have several girly qualities and I can cook way better than your wife."</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"I doubt that. As I was s</em>a<em>..."</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"You want to put your money where your mouth is loser? I can wipe the floor with your wife any day."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Gasp! You dare besmirch my wife's cooking?" </em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"Your oyinbo too much. Bring money and let me show you what real cooking is." </em><br />
<br />
<em>By the way, I've been meaning to mention your growing local vocab. So not on sweetie. Guys don't dig that."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Kiss my bum bum."</em><br />
<br />
So 5 minutes later it was decided. I would host my own dinner party and the rest of the family would decide whose meal they liked better. <br />
<br />
So that Saturday I was up by 5am doing unspeakable things to a beef fillet and other exotic ingredients. I decided to have a Spanish Tapas night to show Market Boys jollof rice damaged taste buds what real cooking was. I had 10 dishes to prepare and I was mega busy. So you can imagine how annoyed I was when I got a call on the intercom saying there was someone looking for me at the gate.<br />
<br />
I stomp outside in my bubu, my face covered in flour from battering my squid and lo and behold, I find Ladies Man waiting for me.<br />
<br />
OH … MY…GOD! BRAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
<strong>Oh yeah! I was going to remind you about that</strong><br />
<br />
You were going to? When exactly were you going to you useless excuse for an organ?<br />
<br />
<strong>Well, OK... my bad. Totally forgot. Hehehehe... But really you have to see the funny side.</strong><br />
<br />
Do you see me laughing? What am I supposed to do now?<br />
<br />
Ladies Man is taking in my smelly (Haven’t had a shower yet. Usually smell like a spring meadow, I do) and disheveled state and probably wondering what he’s let himself in for.<br />
<br />
<em>"Hi!" </em>I said trying to decide how to blag my way out of this mess.<br />
<br />
<em>"Hello! I thought we </em>a<em>greed that I would pick you up by 12pm?"</em><br />
<br />
Pick me up? I look around and I don’t see no car. Was he going to carry me on his back or what? Thank God I forgot sef.<br />
<br />
<em>"I’m soooo sorry. I thought that was next week?"</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"No, I said this Saturday." </em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"Really? Oh gee! I’m terribly sorry. It must have been the drugs. I’ve just been so out of it lately." </em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"It’s all right. I’ll wait for you to get ready. I’ll call my friend to keep some seats for us."</em><br />
<br />
Ohhhhhhhhhh!!!! What’s wrong with this die hard now? I feel bad enough as it is. It seemed like a bit of harmless fun when I was messing about and agreed to go with him. But now that he’s actually standing in front of me, looking all eager, I feel like an evil low life. I will just have to break it to him gently that I ain't going nowhere with him.<br />
<br />
5 minutes later after lying my ass off about no running water, so couldn’t have a bath etc, I watched Ladies Man’s backside disappear off into the sunset on an okada. Once again…Thank God I forgot or that would have been me and him riding off on the okada. I could have sworn I saw him snapping his fingers in my general direction - The universal symbol for “I will show you”, but it was probably just my imagination. <br />
<br />
Imagination my beautiful black booty! The boy seped on me! If he can't have me he dosen't want anyone else to. You can all say what you want but nothing will convince me that he wasn't responsible for what happened next. <br />
<br />
After he leaves, I head back to the kitchen, drop a piece of battered squid in some cooking oil and it literally explodes in my face. I'm talking squid everywhere explosion. My face is on fire! I dunk my head in cold water. Rub my face with ice but nothing works. By the time my guests arrived for dinner one half of my face was already a weeping blister.<br />
<br />
You would think my useless family would be sympathetic but no, they spend the entire evening laughing and Market Boy is calling me Scarface by the time they head off home. <br />
<br />
As I'm trying to free myself from my mothers complicated knot system, I’m thinking of all the ways I can get my own back on Ladies Man and Market Boy. I wonder how much Area boys charge to break a couple of vital bones?<br />
<br />
My door opens and in walks my mother dressed like a mad scientist in an apron, rain boots, hair net, surgical mask and gloves. Closely followed by Inspector Lamidi pushing in an industrial size keg of Fair & White.<br />
<br />
What the….? She can't possibly be serious.<br />
<br />
Somebody, save me please!!!!!!!!!!!Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-37661537944336526662010-09-23T11:09:00.000+01:002010-09-23T11:09:38.126+01:00RIP Hot Babe<strong>Eeeeeeeeeekkkkk!!!! Run Mena! There’s a monster in the mirror.</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Shut up jo. That’s us Brain. We’re the monster. <br />
<br />
Boo Hoo! My beautiful face. <br />
<br />
<strong> It’s not possible. Hey! Stop crying and listen…Ko possible. I had a deal with the guy upstairs not to be inserted into any ugly people. By accepting me as your brain you were under strict obligations to keep yourself hot at all times or I would be forced to turn you into a vegetable. You put on weight; I did nothing because your face was still fine. You went through a period of channeling Lil’Kim as your fashion inspiration; I did nothing because…your face was still fine. I even allowed you to continue to lead a normal life after subjecting me to months without manicures and silky human hair extensions because of our fine facial features but seeing as you have allowed your one saving grace to be desecrated, I give you 1 hour to put your affairs in order because today is the day we will see who really runs this body.</strong><br />
<br />
Sharrup! You talk too much for a muscle mass. It’s always about you. What about me? I’m the one who has to face leaving the house like this. I’m never going to meet a man now. It was hard enough when I was hot but now that I’m disfigured…Boooooooooooooo Hooooooooooo. E don finish o!<br />
<br />
<strong>Er... what’s going on here?</strong><br />
<br />
Oh look what the cat dragged in Brain? Crappie fans.<br />
<br />
Na wa for you people o! How many days ago did I say I was going to go out with Ladies Man? <br />
<br />
<strong>About a week ago</strong><br />
<br />
and when was the last time I posted a blog?<br />
<br />
<strong>About a week ago</strong><br />
<br />
And none of you thought that was a tad strange? That something might be wrong?<br />
<br />
<strong>Not particularly. You are rather self absorbed and tend to forget you have an obligation to your long standing fans. Frankly I think I speak for the rest of your reading public when I say we don’t feel appreciated Mena.</strong><br />
<br />
Ennnnnn…Brain! Are you hearing what I am hearing?<br />
<br />
<strong>I hear am o. I think someone does not know in whose presence they stand.</strong><br />
<br />
I think not.<br />
<br />
<strong>What mode should I switch to in order to enable you kick the nincompoops behind verbally. Should we do local chick, ghetto chick or I went to public school and I know big words chick.</strong><br />
<br />
This one is not like the usual complainants Brain. Seems to understand English. I think we should fight fire with fire and go for the latter. <br />
<br />
<strong>Righty ho! Public school girl it is. I hope I remember how to switch it on. It’s been a while seeing as we don’t get to use it much with the razzo’s we are forced to relate with on a regular basis. Switching in 3…Oh, by the way don’t think I’ve forgiven you. You have 50 minutes of normal brain functions left. After that I suggest you embrace the joys of not being able to blink and you might need to invest in some big girl nappies. OK continuing countdown… 2,</strong><br />
<br />
BANG! BANG! <br />
<br />
<em>"Mena open this door at once. Open the door and let me see you. Inspector Lamidi says you have been involved in a horrible disfiguring accident. I rushed straight here from The Wives of Big Men club luncheon when I heard. The sooner we sneak you out of the country so you don't disgrace the family with your mangled features the better. Oya open the door."</em><br />
<br />
Damn it! God save you that my mother arrived when she did because I had a bevy of soul crushing insults planned for you. <br />
<br />
Who send that gbeborun Lamidi message? I was hoping to have covered up the worst of it with a bucket of liquid make up before she returned from her jobless women’s meeting. <span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">A</span>bi</span> what do you call a meeting dedicated to comparing their husbands PRADO models? She is currently not cooking for my father because he refuses to upgrade, spoiling her chances of reelection as Chief Iwayo Olowo next year.<br />
<br />
<em>"Mena!!!!"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"I’m coming mummy.</em>"<br />
<br />
<br />
This is going to be painful. I take a deep breath and open the door for my mother.<br />
<br />
<em>"Hello Mum! You shouldn’t have rushed over. It’s just a scratch."</em> I say plastering the most carefree smile I can muster on my face.<br />
<br />
My mother takes one look at me and as if in slow motion slowly crumples to the ground.<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena! I think you finally did it. You have finally killed your mama. You will henceforth be known as Mena the murderer. They go send you to Kirikiri, where you will have to wash other women’s knickers with non -foaming bar soap. You will beg me to turn you into a vegetable then.</strong> <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>"Oh my God! Mummy! Wake up please."</em> <br />
<br />
I shake her no response. I check her pulse and thank God she’s still got one. She’s just fainted. I rush to the bathroom, get some water and sprinkle some on her face.<br />
<br />
No response.<br />
<br />
Tap her face gently<br />
<br />
No response.<br />
<br />
Then I decide to try an old trick my dad says he uses when she snores. My father says she can smell money a mile off regardless of how out of it she is. Let’s see if it’s true. I open her purse and waft a couple of thousand naira notes under her nose.<br />
<br />
I detect movement. Na wa for this woman and money. She stirs and starts to mutter<br />
<br />
<em>"Ummm…my money. Who’s stealing my money? God punish all you thieves. you will not see anything to buy in the market with my money."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Mummy open your eyes it’s me. No one is stealing your money." </em><br />
<br />
She slowly opens her eyes, looks at me and sits up with amazing speed for someone who was lying comatose seconds ago and starts to whack me with her handbag.<br />
<br />
<em>"You will not kill me for my husband you hear?"</em> Whack! <br />
<br />
<em>"You will not kill me."</em> Whack! <br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"Owww!!! Mummy!! Stop hitting me</em>."<br />
<br />
I’m up and running round the room but the sprightly old witch is right behind me whacking away. <br />
<br />
<em>"I will take out any child of mine that decides they want to cause me problems in this world. And I will not allow any child to live in my husband's house after their allotted time. You my dear have passed your time. I see what you are planning. You think by turning yourself into Quasimodo you will escape marrying and leaving this house? Over my dead body."</em><br />
<br />
By now the scene is something from the Benny Hill show with me and my mother running round in circles and her handbag thwacking me at every opportunity.<br />
<br />
I hate you Brain. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t made me agree to go out with Ladies Man, none of this would be happening.<br />
<br />
<strong>Like I make the decision round here? And if I remember correctly it was more Market Boys fault than mine. Move your head dimwit you're killing me here.</strong><br />
<br />
Market Boy! The thorn in my sexy side. I will make you pay.<br />
<br />
<strong>Ok! I know I’m just an annoying fan but what the hell is going on here? What about Ladies Man? What happened to your face and what does Market boy have to do with anything? Answers Mena! Answers! And don’t you dare leave us with another stupid cliff hanger</strong>.<br />
<br />
Enn…U dare me? Brain they are daring me.<br />
<br />
<strong>Are you talking to me? I’m not involving myself in your wahala again. If you like don’t komot your head for road, When your mother has killed all my component little grey cells maybe you will learn your lesson.</strong><br />
<br />
I’ll take that as a “How dare they dare us?” from you and you all know what that means…Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-22447637510236820632010-09-14T13:52:00.000+01:002010-09-14T13:52:02.455+01:00My body is at work but mind is...Miles away on a beach on the Virgin Islands with Tyrese rubbing suntan lotion on places where the sun don’t shine. I’m exhausted and still a tad ill, so really shouldn’t be here. But it’s either work or stay at home and let my mother wreak her usual havoc in my life. The woman doesn’t understand <em>“No! I’m not interested and I’d rather die than do that”.</em> Her response to the latter being <br />
<br />
<em>“At least if you die, I can have a big party and wear the lace you have denied me during your lifetime”.</em> <br />
<br />
That’s my mum! Always making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. So after the 2nd consecutive day of trying to get me to do lunch or dinner with my equally uninterested make believe cousin, I dragged my diseased body out of bed and scurried to work. I figured a day in the company of Bad Weave and the other office losers had got be better than having someone put make up on you whilst you’re asleep and invite random men over for a sneak preview of what they might be getting if they cough up enough in the bride price department (Haven’t caught her doing it but I do know I didn’t go to sleep looking like the next poster girl for MAC cosmetics).<br />
<br />
I sit at my desk and I can’t even be bothered to pretend I’m working. My browser is opened to Bella Niaja and I’m popping antibiotics like candy, whilst wondering why all the girls look like clones of each other. Can someone please make it illegal for more than 5 women with Brazilian hair to be in the same place at the same time? Every event is like a Stepford wife convention for crying out loud. <br />
<br />
People with shuku and patewo hairstyles are starting to look exotic and exciting to me. I shall write to our dear governor, Fashola, and ask him to make it law that every woman has to have her natural hair on display for at least 6 months of the year. Even me I don tire! Upon all my “I want to be a bigz girl” wahala, the constant hair flicking is starting to give me neck strain. And I swear I heard chirping noises coming from my last Amy Winehouse inspired bouffant weave.<br />
<br />
Yes siree! I have hooked myself up with some afro kinky twists. My mother says I look like crazed Rastafarian midget and has offered to pay for me to get my hair redone, but I ain't budging. No long flowing locks for a while. I am embracing my afrocentric side and if you all talk too much I shall adopt the bubu and thong sandals as my key articles of clothing for the rest of the year. It is time to respect the cultures of my motherland and shun the artificial glamour of designer brands and sewn in hair…I am African! Africans Awoo!<br />
<br />
<strong>Joker! I don’t know who you are trying to deceive. Are you trying to tell me that this sudden interest in your motherland has nothing to do with that “Africa! My Africa” bobo whose trousers you’re trying to get into?</strong><br />
<br />
Well I never!!!! I don’t know what you’re talking about. A woman shows some interest in her culture and gets accused of all sorts. I don’t know why I bother.<br />
<br />
<strong>You better not bother because I ain’t letting you marry any vegetarian, Jesus sandal wearing hippy you met handing out “Nubian sisters be free” leaflets at the Palms. We eat suya and wear a fashionable mix of LDA & Topshop ok? And I ain’t letting any man get in the way of that. So if you want to embrace a life of Kente cloth danshiki’s and beans, please have a lobotomy and leave me in peace.</strong><br />
<br />
But he’s deep Brain. He stands for something. Don’t you want to stand for something too?<br />
<br />
<strong>Wearing a suit made entirely out of Ankara and Bata inspired sandals, </strong><strong>doesn’t make you deep. It simply means you are a style challenged freak. You’re only interested because he’s hot and he called you “His beautiful Nubian princess”</strong><br />
<br />
Hehehe… “His beautiful Nubian princess”<br />
<br />
<strong>Get a hold of yourself woman. He said that to every girl that walked past. You have to stop falling for everything in trousers that looks like Kojak.</strong><br />
<br />
I do not! I haven’t fallen for him. I am simply helping him spread the gospel of natural beauty and utilizing our God given resources. So please leave me alone and stop trying to pour sand in my garri. Now can we please think about something else because today is a man free day. Don’t have the energy for opposite sex thoughts. <br />
<br />
Where is everybody today anyway? Bad Weave is apparently on leave. Boli Lover is in Ghana, Rat Boy is off to see a client with 6 Pack Guy and damn! Ladies Man is making his way over to my desk. I immediately start coughing really loudly in the hope that the fear of catching my germs will guide his steps away from me but the man obviously has no fear of anything viral because he keeps coming.<br />
<br />
Polyester makes contact with fake mahogany as he plants his <em>“No longer attractive to me”</em> behind on my desk.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>“Hello! How are you feeling?”</em><br />
<br />
<br />
How do you think genius? I look like death warmed over. Even the generous helping of beauty flash balm I applied doesn’t seem to be helping me much today. I decide not to answer him. Instead I perform a nice coughing medley and hope he will take this as a hint to bugger off from my personal space. Damn! Still not budging. I guess I’m gonna have to talk to him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>“Much better thanks.”</em><br />
<br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“That’s good. You look better.”</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Liar, Liar, pants on fire.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>“Look I was wondering what you were doing on Saturday?”</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Hmm…How are my plans any concern of yours you local Casanova? I beg not in the mood for rejecting lame chat up lines today. Everybody should just respect themselves.<br />
<br />
Noticing that I’m taking my time to respond. Ladies Man hurriedly carries on.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>“There is a concert at my church on Saturday and I thought you might like to come.”</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Yeah right! And the 2011 elections will be fair and produce a non-corrupt individual to rule our great country.<br />
<br />
<br />
Not bloody likely!<br />
<br />
<br />
Why is this boy always trying me? He thinks he’s smart trying to wangle a date with me using church. I beg don’t try and play a player. I caught at least two of my boyfriends with that line. Invite them to church to display my “Praying Wife” qualities. Then nip to the loo at some point during the service, to slip some unscrupulous congregation member 50 bucks to corner him and have a revelation that I am his future wife and that he must treat me like a queen or the wrath of the Lord will be upon him. Cruel, I know but a girls got to do whatever it takes. The poor sucker ends up dating me for months. Too scared to break up with me and too scared to marry me because he’s thinking “Lord this isn’t what I asked for in a wife now”.<br />
<br />
<strong>Menaaa!!! He’s just being friendly. Nothing wrong with inviting you to a church social now is there? You might actually enjoy yourself and who knows…Ladies Man might actually not be so bad.</strong><br />
<br />
Brain! Are you alright? Wash your grey cells out with soap for thinking such yucky thoughts. Not so bad indeed! I am highly disappointed in you. Do you not watch TV? If I am stupid enough to follow this boy to his so called “Church Social” I know I will wake up the next day in some smelly face me, I face you bachelor pad with no clothes on, after being doused in love potion masquerading as holy water<br />
<br />
<strong>Come on! Say yes. I'm bored <strong>and y</strong>our life h</strong><strong>as truly sucked l<strong>ately. Go on I d<strong>a</strong></strong>re you!</strong><br />
<br />
U dey dare me? <br />
<br />
Hmm...Mena never backs down from a dare.<br />
<br />
I give Ladies Man my biggest smile and say <em>"So what time are you picking me up?"</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Ahhhhhhhhh!!!! I was only joking o!</strong>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-11510041298880176442010-09-01T11:51:00.000+01:002010-09-01T11:51:39.739+01:00And the pain goes on.<em>"Mummy! Stop hugging me. I can’t breathe and my wrapper."</em> <br />
<br />
She looks down and notices that my “Only to be seen after marriage goods” are on display. A normal mother would hastily cover up her daughter’s modesty but mine just laughs and says <br />
<br />
<em>“What haven’t we all seen before?”</em><br />
<br />
I beg your pardon?! Give me my wrapper jo. Maybe you’re in the habit of flashing your bits around but I like to keep mine encased in 100% silk knickers and under clothes preferably.<br />
<br />
<em>"Mummy please!!!!"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Ok o but when all 3 of you used to play around naked and we used to beg you to wear cloths that was a different story abi? You are now posing for each other? Oya hold still let me help you tie it."</em><br />
<br />
Me and who? I never have and I never will be involved in a kinky 3 way. The rumors are all lies. Anyway, Mena never forgets a naked hottie and I ain’t ever seen either of these guys before. Naked or otherwise.<br />
<br />
<em>"Mena don’t you remember your cousins?"</em> says my mum as she deposits me into the nearest chair.<br />
<br />
<em>"Cousins?"</em><br />
<br />
YOU LIE WOMAN! <br />
<br />
I have no hot cousins. All my cousins are fugly! Fuuuuugggglllyyy! I tell you and they have no style to boot.<br />
<br />
She’s probably being a typical Nigerian and calling random family friends cousins.<br />
<br />
Please God don’t let them be biological cousins. I should at least get to have one of them after letting them see my naked bottom. I’m sure it’s in the Bible that you have to marry who ever sees you naked.<br />
<br />
<strong>Really? All the other ones before this n’ko?</strong><br />
<br />
I don’t know what you are talking about. I am as pure as the driven snow. I now see you are the people spreading all the lies about me en? You don’t want me to marry abi? As Ijebu Chick likes to say <em>“All my enemies die, die, die!”</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Ah ah! Which one na die again? Back to sender.</strong><br />
<br />
Tough!!!!! My Epée shield is up and fully activated. Nothing is coming back to me. Komot from my blog jare enemy of marital progress.<br />
<br />
"<em>Yinka*, Ayo* you don’t remember Mena?"</em><br />
<br />
Yinka*!!!!!! It can't be. He ain’t no blinkin’ cousin. He’s my mum’s friend’s scrawny kid that used look up my skirt and put his boogies in my hair. Last time I saw him he was being trashed by his mother for melting my Suntan Barbie in the oven. How dare he come back 30 years later looking all hot? As for his Brother Ayo, wonder if he’s still a total nerd? Always had his big ol' head in a book. The rest of his body has definately caught up with his head sha. All muscly. Not as hot but definitely not fugly either. Lord I so need some make up.<br />
<br />
We all mumble, <em>“Hi’s”</em> and one of the non-cousins suggests that my mum better take me to the hospital.<br />
<br />
2 hours later I’m on my way home with more drugs than Tyrone on a project street corner. I apparently have a viral infection which my mother has attributed to me kissing boys that don’t come from good homes. I am too tired to question the medical basis of her diagnosis. I just want to put my head down and sleep. I snuggle into her lap and let her stroke my hair. <br />
<br />
<em>“This is nice”</em> I think as I start to nod off.<br />
<br />
<em>"So which one should we focus on?"</em><br />
<br />
Huh? What’s she talking about now? Be quiet woman and stop spoiling the Hallmark moment.<br />
<br />
<em>"Yinka is a bit too fine and exciting for you. I don’t think you can handle him. Maybe if you start wearing your Body Wowo and some Lycra dresses, I might be able to get him interested."</em> <br />
<br />
My own mother is not really saying all this to me. It’s the drugs making me hear things.<br />
<br />
<em>"Ayo is better. Very stable young man. You won’t have problems with him. I saw the way he was looking at you today. Even with your rolls of fat on display he seemed interested."</em><br />
<br />
I’m not listening….Lalalalalalalalala<br />
<br />
<em>"I think he has some local “Buy me credit” girlfriend his mother doesn’t like. Between the two of us we can get you two together by Independence Day. They said they would come and check up on you later so as soon we get home, I don’t care how sick you are, you will have a bath and make yourself look ravishing."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Mummy! You and Aunty are not God. Please leave Ayo and his local girlfriend alone. We are all adults and I would like to think, capable of making our own decisions. If he likes me he will let me know without you meddling. Now can we please just forget about men and marriage for one day and focus on the fact that I’m ill?"</em><br />
<br />
Next thing I know my head is being roughly removed from her comfortable lap and shoved to one side.<br />
<br />
<em>"Mummy! That hurt."</em> I moan rubbing my throbbing temples.<br />
<br />
<em>"Good. That pain is nothing compared to what you will feel when you wake up at 40 all alone and realize that your posing caused it."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Look I’m not saying you can’t hook me up mum. I’m just saying you don’t have to go all mafia and start getting rid of current girlfriends or stalking people. You’re making me look desperate."</em><br />
<br />
<em>"In case you haven’t been looking around, you’re not the hottest or youngest chick in Lagos. You better be desperate and start fighting for what you want or else all those small girls with their perky breasts and hot pants will have married at least 3 times before you get to number one. Love and marriage is not like in the movies darling. It’s a war. It was a war when I was your age and I didn’t even have half the problems you have to contend with now. I know you think I’m mean to you and that I don’t care about your feelings when I say these things. The truth is I love you more than you will ever know and the thought of you being all alone when I’m gone scares me."</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>"Oh Mummy!"</em> I burst into tears and throw myself back into her ample bossom(It runs in the family).<br />
<br />
She loves me and she's so right. I don't want to die all old and alone surrounded by my shoes.<br />
<br />
<em>"There, there, don t cry. It’s going to be alright. Mummy is going to fix everything. As soon as we get home just go upstairs and shave off that nature reserve growing under your armpits ok? And don’t you have a sexy dressing gown because this your wrapper moves just dey disgrace person."</em><br />
<br />
Why do I fall for it every time?Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-44929681572910157782010-08-31T17:06:00.001+01:002010-08-31T17:15:37.241+01:00Make the pain stop!I woke up yesterday morning and felt like I’d been doused in hot acid, rolled in chill peppers and had the whole of Mo Hit records partying in my head. Everything hurt, ached and throbbed. My nose was all bunged up and I was hacking away like some demented old witch. I was ill…Again!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div>Lord why me? I blame all the constant crying on my shoulder by Bad Weave. She must have passed her local germs to me. My finely tuned virus defence system, having never encountered germs of such razzness and bad taste before, must have fled rather than touch them in battle. I don’t blame you my delicate white blood cells. Run! Save yourselves from the Fuji loving bacteria. But it means I need drugs and I’m going to have to go to the hospital. Even worse, it means I’m going to have to talk to my mother.<br />
<br />
<div></div><strong>You mean you still haven’t let this BB Guy thing go Mena?</strong><br />
<br />
<div></div>Of course I have. She is my mother after all. Its not like I can return her now is it? So I have accepted my destiny and I’m learning to bear my cross. Anyway, seeing as there currently isn’t a man on the horizon, the chances of getting out of this house anytime soon are looking slim. So I am respecting myself before my mother sparks and boots my sulking behind out. I’m only avoiding her to ensure no harrowing conversations on marriage, weight or what I’m doing with my life occur. <br />
<br />
<div></div>I literally crawl out of bed, down the stairs, into the living room.<br />
<br />
<div></div>"<em>Mummy I’m ill."</em> I say, collapsing at her feet and burying my head under her iro for comfort.<br />
<br />
<div></div><em>"Will you come on get off the floor and stop wiping your snotty nose on my clothes like a bush baby. Can’t you see we have guests?"</em><br />
<br />
<div></div>Huh? We do?<br />
<br />
<div></div>I peek out from under the iro and sure enough there were 2 other people in the room. And not just people, Hot, members of the opposite sex kinda people. Hmmm… My peripheral vision must really suck or I am reeeaaally ill. How the hell could I have missed hot guys?! OK let’s assess the situation. I’m lying on the floor in my see through nightie(It was laundry day and I got tired of waiting for “The One” to arrive before I could launch it), a wrapper, hair net, no make up, no bra and at this point I no longer have the will to live. <br />
<br />
<div></div>I have 3 options:<br />
<br />
<div></div><strong>A -</strong> Reverse crawl out of the room without saying a word and hope they think I was a figment of their imagination.<br />
<br />
<strong>B-</strong> Continue to lie on the floor, close my eyes and say nothing until my mother is forced to call an ambulance to whisk me away from my current shame filled Mena moment<br />
<br />
<br />
Or <br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>C-</strong> Get up! Say hello and walk out of there like I was the hottest thing since man discovered fire.<br />
<br />
<div></div>I chose to go with option C. I could turn this situation round. I am Mena after all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div><strong>Trust your bad self Mena.</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div>Yeah! I'm bad! Sho mo! but er...Brain isn't. It chose to go with option B.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div><strong>Huh?</strong> <br />
<br />
<div></div><div></div>Abi? U wan deny am? No be u dey control all my bodily functions? <br />
<br />
<div></div>Try as I might I just couldn’t make myself get up. Anyway after taking so long to figure out what to do, getting up and saying <em>"Hello"</em> now would just be awkward. They wouldn’t just think I was local but insane as well. So I simply let my head fall to the ground (Owwwwww!!!!) and waited to see how long it would take my mother to react.<br />
<br />
<div></div><em>"Menaa!!!!"</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div>3 seconds. Not bad.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div><em>"Mennna!!! Oh my God help me! I think she’s dead."</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div>Ah ah! What is always wrong with this woman? Which one is dead again? Don’t people ever faint where she comes from?<br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div><strong>God forgive you. You are a very wicked daughter. Look at how you are scaring your mother?</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div>I beg let me hear word. My head hurts. Anyway it’s not like I did it on purpose. You would do the same thing if you ran into hot guys whilst half naked with no make up on. STOP JUDGING ME!<br />
<br />
<em>"Quick help me lift her up."</em><br />
<br />
No!!!! Lift ke? There shall be no lifting. The shame, if these 2 guys can’t carry my ample frame off the floor, might actually kill me. Doesn’t she watch TV? Check my airways and call an ambulance dammit! Payan payan!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div><em>"It’s alright madam calm down. We need to check she’s still breathing and that her airways aren’t obstructed before we move her." </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<div></div><div></div>Finally the voice of reason. Sounds like he watches ER. My kinda man. Unlike this Kakaki watching woman. If it was up to her, she would have thrown my unconscious, airway obstructed body unto the back of an okada and zoomed off to the ER, killing me in the process. <br />
<br />
<div></div>Ohhh nice. One of the hotties is checking my pulse. Strong, manly hands on my body...Mmmmm<br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div><em>"I can hear rasping noises coming from her throat..."</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div>Damn! Did I moan out loud? <br />
<br />
<div></div><br />
<em>"She might be choking. Move back ma let make sure she’s not swallowing her tongue."</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div><em>"Menaa!!! Ti pa mi o. What will I tell her father? They will say it is the holy spices I have been putting in her food</em>."<br />
<br />
<br />
<div></div>En???!!!! Holy wetin? God don catch you today. I thought my Frosties tasted a tad odd lately. Now we know why. I shall deal with you when I finish feigning unconsciousness.<br />
<br />
<div></div>What the…?<br />
<br />
<div></div>One of the hotties is trying to pry my mouth open. No way that’s gonna happen. I haven’t brushed my gnashers yet and no potential Mr.Mena is getting a whiff of morning breath before he’s had a chance to see the finer things I have to offer. So I clamp down hard and start to wonder how to get myself out of this quickly deteriorating farce. <br />
<br />
I should just make a miraculous recovery.<br />
<br />
I move my head from side to side, escaping mystery hottie number ones prying fingers( They tasted like donuts by the way...Yummy Tasting Hottie),<br />
<br />
<strong>Omo ko omo!</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
and I let out a few ladylike moans, before allowing my eyelids to flutter open.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>" Where am I? What happened?"</em> I say in a sexy low mumur<br />
<br />
<br />
Ladies & Gentlemen and the Oscar goes to...<br />
<br />
<br />
Yummy Tasting Hottie gazes into my eyes, touches my forehead and says <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>"You fainted. You're going to be..."</em><br />
<br />
<br />
before MY MOTHER ruins our romantic first meeting by shoving him out of the way and putting me in a bear hug, whilst sobbing like a baby.<br />
<br />
Oh gosh! She is rather upset isn't she?<br />
<br />
<strong>Yah think spawn of the devil?! There's a special place in the afterlife for ungrateful children like you.</strong><br />
<br />
I didn't mean too. Everything just spiralled out of control. Anyway don't worry, pay back has come early. My mothers vigorous hugging just made my wrapper drop. My butt cheeks are on display for the whole world to see. I can't see Hottie number 2 but Yummy Tasting Hottie does not look impressed.<br />
<br />
My aching head. Just kill me now and make all the pain and embarrassment stop.<br />
<br />
<div></div>Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-51958820067403593682010-08-25T12:02:00.000+01:002010-08-25T12:02:47.730+01:00Male Mates Needed. Apply Here!Lord have mercy! That’s like the 15th e-mail in the space of an hour. This is why you should never let another woman hug you in the ladies loo. They get all clingy and demanding. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sod off woman!!! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I don’t want to know if Fuji dancer hasn’t picked up your call for the umpteenth time. Don’t you have friends to talk too? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Bitchy!</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Whatever!!! Look, I can appreciate that Bad Weave is going through a bad time, but the fact that I patted her on the back and helped her blow nose doesn’t suddenly make me her new BFF. She's been making me do lunch so she can sob on my shoulder. My dry cleaning bill this month is going to be horrendous. Hasn't she ever heard of waterproof mascara? Anyway she wants me to come down to Fuji Boys place with her to talk to him. Naturally that’s where I drew the line. That's the kind of trip you take your close mates, who have had the torturous experience of meeting Fuji Boy, on. Not some random hot chick that works in your office. I'm sorry Bad Weave I ain't looking to be your friend.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If I wanted new friends, I definitely wouldn’t be looking in her direction. And despite what you might all think it ain't just the bad hair and men choices that’s standing in her way. We just don’t have anything in common. I’m too old to be forcing myself to hang with people just because I feel sorry for them or I’m bored and lonely. Making friends is a delicate process and you just don’t hand yourselves over to random people just because you happen to know their dirty little secrets.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To make matters worse, Rat Boy who now knows I know has been trying to get me to talk her into seeing things his way. Not my beeswax mate. You shagged her. You bag her. I ain’t involving myself in this Tinsel plot line. Everybody leave me alone. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Don’t worry you’ll be alone pretty soon, considering your only mate in Lagos; Speedy Gonzales is jetting off to New York for 4 months as we speak.</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Noooooooooooo!!!! Why Speedy?!! Why?!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Damn the dodgy maternity services in this country. Why is everyone so obsessed with jetting off to have their sprogs? I was born here and turned out just fine thank you very much. Army Barracks Hospital Ilorin…I salute you (Could have done a better job moulding my ears but thank God for long flowing weaves.) She lied!!! She doesn’t love me or she wouldn’t be leaving me at the mercy of my crazy man wrapper sister. Boo Hoo. I do need new friends don’t I Brain?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Yes you do Anti-social one.</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ok! But can we only look for male friends? Can’t cope with female drama.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Ashawo! Wetin you wan take male friends do?</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m taking a sabbatical from lusting over men remember?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>If you say so. That’s why you’ve been aiming your cleavage towards Six Pack Guy all week abi?</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh that! Not what you think. We were conducting an experiment. He was helping me decide what angle my boobies looked perkiest at for future man catching purposes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>If I could make you slap yourself I would. Actually I can...</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ow! Stop that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He’s so metro sexual he’s swung right past the hetro to gay. So I wouldn't worry about him Brain. Or at least I think he has. In fact I’ll eat carbs if he ain’t gay. His interest in my hair and shoes is way too intense to be normal male behavior. I mean only this morning he high fived me for being right on trend with my Gucci raffia tote. <br />
<strong>I pirry you. I wouldn’t assume he’s anything until he tells you himself or you catch him in a compromising position with the stationery boy who definitely is. If you like keep giving him film show.</strong> <br />
<br />
<br />
Nah! No way. He calls me girlfriend and we’re even thinking of going to some fashion show over the weekend. Definitely a whole lot more fun hanging with a guy.<br />
<br />
<strong>Afraid no catch you abi? A word is enough for the wise. From fashion show you go branch bar. From bar your "Can't hold her drink" self will end up in the supposed gay man's house doing very un gay things. Any man that’s not a eunuch, Gucci bag lovin’ or otherwise, is dangerous. I don’t want to hear "O ka mi mo corner" o.</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Askology. You ain't my Daddy!! So chillax and stop being so suspicious! You should be happy. I might just be making a new friend and at work too.<br />
<br />
<strong>Find a girlfriend. I don talk my own.</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Look as any woman will testify making friends with guys is just easier. Guys ain’t hating on your weave or eyeing up your boyfriend behind your back (Well these days you never know). There are only 2 reasons why a guy is your friend in the first place. You’re either very hot and he’s hoping one day you will trip over and conveniently fall into his shag master 2000 deluxe king-size bed with the rotating overhead mirrors or you make him laugh and he thinks you’re cool. Outside of those 2 reasons there ain’t much else they are interested in. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Also guys like to do fun stuff like play video games, drink copious amounts of vodka, talk about pointless crap in loud voices and most importantly they know other guys who might be suitable for dating duty when my man fast is over.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So really, guy friends are the future. I just have to maintain the key rule to staying friends with a guy; which is never sleep with them. You can flirt with them till kingdom come but never ever snog or sleep with them cause that just creates all sorts of messy boundary issues. I see some people at the back of the room eagerly raising their hands to ask things like "What about friends with benefits?" etc. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Story. Do you have female friends with benefits? If you do then you probably ain’t interested in blokes anyway and if you still are then...Does your mama know you’re kinky lil’ so and so? Anyway my point is once you start giving up the extra’s you’re now in shag buddy territory, which is a whole other blog. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Being friends with a woman…I beg. Wahala dey plenty. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The reasons why a woman might want to be your friend are endless. Which is why I avoid female friendships like the plague. They're cool when you're still pubescent and you think boy bands are the best thing ever. But once you get past a certain age its just easier to stick to the girls you've known all your life instead of trying to fit into some clique that has so many rules and regulations to join its easier to be employed by the CIA. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I do talk to other girls and we do the whole number swapping thing but deep down we both know we're just going to remain acquaintances and air kiss when we see each other at parties. I’ve got my own issues; don’t need a random girl bringing me down. I shall stick with Ijebu Chick & Bunnylicious. They might be annoying and thousands of miles away but at least I know they got my back.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So I think the best way to handle this is to maybe hold open auditions for my new male mates. Anyone who’s interested should send me their BB pins and I’ll take it from there. No “Cant afford to buy his own popcorn when we go the movies” applicants please. And also it wouldn't kill you to be cute, have modicum of style and a strong grasp of the English language. I might not be planning on dating your arse but I don’t plan on slumming it either.Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-42036275645324263502010-08-18T14:54:00.000+01:002010-08-18T14:54:30.477+01:00I think we're gonna need more tissues. Bad Weave’s fiancé has dumped her 3 months to the wedding after he caught her in a steamy liaison at Mama Cass. Please don’t ask me how it’s possible to have a steamy liaison at Mama Cass. I’m too tush to know. <br />
<br />
<strong>Ennnnn!!!! Ashawo. Na wa Mena. This one that you can’t even find one to lampash you and she’s keeping 2 to herself. It’s a shame sha.</strong><br />
<br />
Gerraway jo! I know you are just using style to insult me. <br />
<br />
What’s the big deal? I just kinda got dumped too and slapped with a BB restraining order to boot. I should be the one sobbing in the ladies. I could be picking out table linens with my wedding planner by now. Boo Hoo!<br />
<br />
<strong>N’do. Se you know your own romance was a figment of your over active imagination sha?</strong><br />
<br />
Kiss my BBB (Beautiful Black Behind)!<br />
<br />
Anyway, to make matters worse…She’s pregnant.<br />
<br />
<strong>Ahhh!!! That one na different story but at least she’s been getting some. Unlike some people.</strong><br />
<br />
Continue being lippy. <br />
<br />
It's true sha…The bi*#%. But then again, it depends on who you’ve been getting it from. Guess what makes this whole situation suicide worthy?<br />
<br />
<strong>Wetin??</strong><br />
<br />
She was caught in a steamy liaison with Rat Boy formerly known as Chipmunk from the office.<br />
<br />
<strong>Na lie! Story don wowo finish.</strong><br />
<br />
I don’t know why but I am rather upset by this news. I don’t know if it’s the mental image of both them getting it on that’s now looping through my brain that’s upsetting me; The fact that even Rat Boy is getting his groove on and I’m not or the knowledge that they were able to carry out a sordid affair under my nose without me finding out. I pride myself on my instincts and if anyone had told me that Rat Boy had ever seen or knew what to do with a naked woman, I would have had them committed.<br />
<br />
All interest in Six Pack guy has now gone. I needed to hear me some gist.<br />
<br />
As it turns out Bad Weave’s Fuji dancing boyfriend had proposed to her in a drunken haze about a month ago and it seems he was now getting cold feet. He had started ignoring her phone calls, staying out till all hours and taking an unseemly interest in the opposite sex. After a row over catching him in his neighbor’s apartment with nothing but a pair of boxers on (He claims he was helping her kill a cockroach. I don’t even have a witty remark for that), Bad Weave had come into work early the next day and had a mini sobbing fit. Rat Boy had arrived in the middle of the whole thing and given her a shoulder to cry on<br />
<br />
Over the weeks, as Fuji dancing boyfriend’s behavior detiriorated, so did the muscles in Rat Boys shoulder, and they totally gave way one day causing Bad Weaves head to slip and placing her lips directly over Rat Boys. The rest as they say was history. <br />
<br />
Personally it would take a whole lot more than a cheating boyfriend to send me into the stubby arms of Rat Boy. I’m not even sure a nuclear holocaust and the need to repopulate the earth would. If it was up to me and him, believe me, Cockroaches would rule the world.<br />
<br />
Anyway she claims she didn’t know what happened but she just couldn’t help herself after that. Every time she had a row with Fuji Boy, Rat Boy and his “Miraculous rod of wonder” would pop by and make everything alright.<br />
<br />
Did she want to be with him?<br />
<br />
Apparently not. Her exact words being <em>“Hell no!”</em> <br />
<br />
He was apparently an Okada riding, Dundun eating, junior member of staff. There was no future with him. He was just sweet to her and with Fuji Boy being a typical macho male, she was missing some tenderness. She loved Fuji Boy despite his dodgy ways and anyway he owned a Tokunbo Prado. Nuff said.<br />
<br />
The only problem now was after the whole Mama Cass debacle, Fuji boy and his Prado had kicked her to the kerb. He was probably back on cockroach killing duty at his neighbors as we speak. Rat Boy on the other hand seems to have fallen for the lure of synthetic hair and was now claiming paternity to the unborn child and demanding she give their relationship a chance. I mean why let a little thing like no car and your meager salary stand in the way of love abi?<br />
<br />
I can personally think of many reasons but I ain't pregnant and unable to decide if the baby daddy is a gyrating philanderer or a poverty stricken rodent. So I shall be keeping my opinions to myself.<br />
<br />
Her question to me was <em>“What would you do?”</em><br />
<br />
God forbid! May I never be able to answer that question.<br />
<br />
How the hell do I know Trampy? My sole knowledge of issues like this is garnered from Nollywood and I’m not sure their way of dealing with things is necessarily the right way to go. I honestly can’t even begin to relate to anything she’s telling me.<br />
<br />
The only time I’ve ever cheated on someone was when I was in college and too much of a wimp to break up with the loser I was with. I tried. Believe me I tried but he would break into tears every time I attempted to tell him things weren’t working out. So I figured the best way to sort it out was to move on but not bother telling him I’d moved on. I figured he would work it out soon enough when he saw me smooching someone else on campus.<br />
<br />
This on the other hand is a whole different kettle of fish.<br />
<br />
Bad Weave, I’m all out of advice but I do have a giant box of Kleenex that I’m willing to share.<br />
<br />
Abi? What else can I do?Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-38777694843519740422010-08-18T10:55:00.000+01:002010-08-18T10:55:40.186+01:00Six Packs & Tissues.Friggin, stupid men. <br />
<br />
<br />
Who needs them?<br />
<br />
Not me that’s for sure. <br />
<br />
After all, apart from the sex what else are they really good for? And lets be honest some of them can’t even get the sex bit right. I mean come on, how hard is it to keep going for 3 hours and make some multiple O’s happen whilst telling me I’m the best you’ve ever had in French? Exactly! Nothing to it abi and yet do I get that? Of course not. One ex had the nerve to say to me I was "Too demanding" and that there was nothing wrong with 10 minutes and a cuddle afterwards. 10 minutes!!!! It takes me that long to decide who I’ll be fantasizing about whilst the whole things going on. And as for cuddling…Totally overrated when the person cuddling you has just scratched his itch and left you wondering what the hell just happened? Nope! Don’t need em. I can change my own light bulbs thank you very much. I will throw myself into my work and breed chickens to fill my lonely hours. Chickens! What’s not to love? Unconditional clucky devotion and you can eat them when they piss you off. <br />
<br />
I stroll into the office determined to be a better employee and put the last couple of weeks behind me. I reach my desk and lo and behold there is 6ft of gorgeousness sitting by it. I immediately suck in my tummy and thank God for forcing me to put make up on. I sashay up to my desk; sit down opposite him and kapow him with my 100 mega watt smile. <br />
<br />
“<em>Hi! Are you waiting for me?”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“Hi! I’m not sure. Are you Mena?”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“Yep! That’s me and you are?”</em> <br />
<br />
<em>“My names ….."</em><br />
<br />
(It’s got be Six Pack Guy). <br />
<br />
<em>"I’m the new Account Manager. “</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Finally!!! My prayers have been answered. After months of petitioning HR via anonymous notes in the suggestion box, they have finally employed some eye candy for my department. Hello Six Pack Guy. How you doinnnng?? My self imposed ban on men will have to wait.<br />
<br />
<em>“Sorry to be camped out at your desk but it seems your HR department wasn’t quiet ready for me. So I was told to hang out with you and you would show me the ropes.”</em><br />
<br />
God bless our incompetent HR department. I’ll show you the ropes alright. Right before I tie you to my headboard with them and make you my kinky slave. <br />
<br />
<strong>Mena!!!!!</strong><br />
<br />
Sorry! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. <br />
<br />
<strong>Pull yourself together woman.</strong><br />
<br />
I know Brain. We need to do something about my raging hormones. I’ve tried everything…Food, TV, going out, shopping, prayer and even fasting. But I just can't stop thinking about it. It’s all the time now. My mind is constantly playing naughty images in my head. If I was a dog I‘d be rubbing myself against every leg I could find. This is a disaster. I’m having a midlife kinky crisis. I’m all itchy and there’s no one to scratch it. Well there wasn’t until now.<br />
<br />
<strong>Don’t even think about it Mena. We shall not be getting scratched by any one who gets paid by the same payroll as us. You’re just a bit stressed and hormonal at the moment. All that drama with BB boy has you frazzled. You’ll be fine. </strong><br />
<br />
But he’s so cute and muscly. Damn! Here comes Bad Weave. She’s bound to want him too. As a matter of principle I should be allowed to make my move before she tries anything Brain. <br />
<br />
<strong>No! You no dey hear word?</strong><br />
<br />
Hey! What’s going on here? Bad Weave just walked past without so much as a lustful glance in Six Pack's direction. Something ain't right here. I turn to him and give him a quick once over. Nah! My nookie deprived brain isn’t playing tricks on me. He’s cute dammit! Why isn’t she interested? I know she has a boyfriend but that usually doesn’t stop her. Now I’m scared. Maybe her jazz has warned her about his hot self. He might be disease ridden, have a Johnson the size of a peanut (I wonder if there’s jazz that can tell you that? You know…Exciting equipment makes the crotch area glow green and a red flashing light tells you to run for dear life and sexual liberation. I need to look into that) or even worse, unable to keep me in shoes. I must investigate further.<br />
<br />
I follow Bad Weave into the ladies room and find her sobbing uncontrollably. Her cheap Island cosmetics mascara is running down her face and one of her false eyelashes is literally hanging on for dear life. Under ordinary circumstances I would have whipped out my BB and filmed this for prosperity. You know something to cheer me up when I’m having a bad day but I had more pressing issues here. I needed to find out if Six Pack Guy was a potential play thing or if I needed to disinfect my desk and sepe on HR for tempting me with damaged goods. <br />
<br />
<em>“Are you OK Bad Weave? What’s the matter?”</em><br />
<br />
She sniffs loudly, says something unintelligible and throws herself in my arms.<br />
<br />
Eeeeewwwwwwwwwww!!!!! Personal space! Personal space dammit! <br />
<br />
Oh my God!! she’s getting make up and bodily fluids all over my new Banana Republic silk tee. I need to bring this love fest to a close.<br />
<br />
<em>“There, there…everything’s going to be alright. Just sit here and tell me what’s wrong.”</em><br />
<br />
I deposit her firmly on the loo and back up to a safe distance to listen to her pathetic tale of woe. I mean what could possibly be so wrong? Did her hairdresser run out of bad hair or maybe one of her sugar daddies wives finally gave her the beat down she deserves. Either way I’m only pretending to care so I know if it’s worth investing in a Brazilian wax before the weekend.<br />
<br />
After several failed attempts to make out what she was saying through all the sobbing, the picture finally become's clear and let’s just say she needed to be crying a bit more than that. I actually considered shoving her out the window and helping her end it all.<br />
<br />
Damn woman! How old are you again? <br />
<br />
How could you have let all this happen?Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-67838878946083543702010-08-16T14:18:00.001+01:002010-08-16T15:06:35.034+01:00Well I never...<strong>Hey! Snap out of it and open the darn message drama queen.</strong> <br />
<br />
OK! I can do this. I’ve survived 3 brothers, 2 crazy sisters, a stint in Federal Government College and living with my mother alone deserves a purple heart. So opening a BB message is nothing. Here goes…<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong><em> Hi!</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Phew! All it says is<em> "Hi".</em> <br />
<br />
<em>"Hi"</em> is cool. <br />
<br />
I can deal with <em>"Hi".</em> <br />
<br />
<em>"Hi"</em> doesn’t require too many mental machinations to respond to. <br />
<br />
I’ll just say <em>"Hi"</em> back and then we’ll take it from there right? <br />
<br />
Then again should I be worried that its just a<em> "Hi"?</em> I mean <em>"Hi"</em> is so impersonal. There's no<em> "I’ve been pining away for you for 2 weeks"</em> in <em>"Hi".</em> Theres no<em> "Mena you wronged me but I cant resist you"</em> in<em>"Hi".</em> What if…<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>For the love of God. Just respond will you. It ain't rocket science girl. Someone says "Hi" and you say "Hi" back! Geez!</strong><br />
<br />
DON’T RUSH ME! I CANT TAKE ALL THIS PRESSURE!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> Hello stranger<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Darn! Why did I type that? We agreed on me just saying <em>"Hi"</em> back abi? Now he’s going to know that I’ve noticed he ain't been around and that I was bothered by it. Oh Lord! Why couldn’t I just type"Hi!"? Why am I such a dufus?<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>I swear to God if you start crying again, I will force our organs to spontaneously combust. Its just a guy Mena. We can do this OK?</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
OK!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong><em> Hi there! Pinged you ages ago.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>Sorry. Been a bit tied up. Just noticed it. So how are you?</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong> <em>I’m cool. Look I’ll just get straight to the point. No offence or anything but you need to get your crazy mother to leave me alone</em>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What the f*@k ? Where's my <em>"I cant live without you"</em> convo? And no one calls my mother crazy but me. What has the crazy woman done now? She swore to me that she had asked Inspector Lamidi to cease all surveillance detail on him and stand down. She's obviously lied to me...again. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>Sorry?! I don’t think there’s any need for insults. How would you feel if I called your mother crazy?</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong> <em>Believe me if my mother was having you followed around by MOPO’s and scaring off your dates you can call her any damn thing you want.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
En?? Did he say dates? You cheating bastard. While I’ve been losing precious body fluids from crying uncontrollably all week, he’s been getting his dating groove on? Na only MOPO u don see abi? You think my mother is crazy? Wait till you meet the miniature, concentrated version of her...Mena<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>I don’t know what you’re talking about. My mother wouldn’t do that</em>( well she would but I ain't telling him that.) <em>Next time I suggest you get your facts straight before you start flinging slanderous accusations about.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong> <em>Look don’t try and mess me about. I recognize the guys from the other night at your house. They keep telling the LASMA guys near my office to harass me. They arrested my driver for no good reason. The other night they stopped me and my date and kept us there for over an hour claiming that the tyres on my car had been reported stolen and that they had to impound them for forensic examination</em><br />
<br />
<br />
He said that word again…Date. Whats that drilling sound? Oh wait, its the sound of my blood rushing through my veins at an alarming rate due the shock of being so easily replaced.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>You know what? It's people like you that are ruining our country.</em> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong> <em>Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>You heard me. What?! Is that you and your so called date are too hot to co-operate with the police in an ongoing investigation? </em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong><em>You’ve got to be kidding me. What friggin' investigation? Nothing was stolen. I WAS DRIVING MY OWN F’ING</em> <em>CAR WHICH WAS PERFECTLY BALANCED ON THE TYRES IT CAME WITH FROM THE SHOWROOM!!!!!</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>Don’t you send me messages in caps with multiple exclamations at the end. Who do you think you are? First you insult my mother and then you have the nerve to address me in that tone? You sir, are no gentleman. If everybody acted like you how would we solve any crimes in this great nation of ours?</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong><em>You’re insane. The crazy gene obviously runs in your family. Thank God I realized it before I got myself entangled with you. To think I was going to ask you to come to my mates wedding in Jos with me. I was actually considering getting serious with you.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Story! If you were really getting serious about me you wouldn’t have let a simple thing like my mother and my family's mental history get in the way.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>Boo hoo. I’m heartbroken. Loser! Your mates are carrying babes like me to Dubai to shop. And you are feeling because you wanted to take me to one of your loser friends wedding in harmattan ridden Jos? Nigga plllleeeeezzzze!</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong> <em>This conversation is so over. Theres no point trying to reason with someone who’s obviously not all there. It's a shame. You’re a pretty girl. Try getting some help for your condition and maybe somebody might consider dating you. Until then just stay away from me or you’ll find out the hard way that you aren’t the only family with military connections.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<em><strong>Mena:</strong> Are you threatening me big spender?</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong><em>Try me and see.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>You’re just priceless. To think I was going to lose my haven’t had sex since the last world cup status with you? Well you can just kiss all that goodbye. I’ll be saving my goodies for someone else.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong> <em>Really? 4 years?</em> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Hmmm…Am I sensing a change in the waters? Trust a guy to get all mellow when the issue of sex pops into the equation. I might still be able to salvage this situation yet. I might still have a chance with BB Boy.Just need to reel him in gently. Don’t be a garden tool Mena but show him despite his disparaging comments about you and your mama, you are a forgiving soul.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>Yes! Its been 4 years. I’ve been saving myself for the right guy. You know, the one who would complete me. My fellow wandering spirit. Is that you BB Boy? Are you trying to fight your true desires for me by hiding behind all this aggression? Let it out. We’re both adults. Theres no shame in admitting you want me despite my mental peculiarities</em>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong> <em>You're right.</em><br />
<br />
<em>We are saying thank you Jesus...</em> Brain,your master has succeed once again in turning a disaster into the beginning of steamy romance. Watch him pour out his heart to me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena:</strong> <em>That’s it. Open up to me.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong> <em>I want you...</em><br />
<br />
Oh gosh, bits of my body that I didn't know existed are tingling. <br />
<br />
<strong>BB Boy:</strong> ...COMMITTED <em>YOU BLINKIN' PSYCHO! NO WONDER YOU’RE FRIGGIN' CRAZY!!! GO GET LAID AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Well I never! <br />
<br />
I think he’s just taken me off his BB list.Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-60505141730486936182010-08-10T13:44:00.000+01:002010-08-10T13:44:06.154+01:00Don't judge me!Which one of you evil people sent me a note threatening to reveal my true age if I didn’t update my blog? All I can say is God dey! May they not send you such letters when you are busy recuperating from losing the one true love of your life. <br />
<br />
<strong>En? Who be that?</strong><br />
<br />
BB boy of course! What kind of dumb ass question is that? Na everyday I dey love?<br />
<br />
<strong>Weeellll….</strong><br />
<br />
Shut it! Just shut it, shut it, shut it!!!!! The others were nothing but mild amusements. They didn’t have the connection we did. Couldn’t you feel the love in the air Brain? How am I supposed to live now? Boo hooo<br />
<br />
<em>I can't live, if living is without you...</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Oh God she’s breaking into song again. Mena e don do now. Pity the rest of the house.</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<em>I can't live, I can't give anymore</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>Can't live, if living is without you</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>I can't give, I can't give anymoreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee</em>...<br />
<br />
<br />
Aaaaaaaaaahhhh!!! Boo hoo!<br />
I can’t give anymore Brain…Booooo hoooooo. <br />
<br />
Whyyyyyyyyy???!!!! Why does my life suck? I will never love again.<br />
<br />
Boo hoooooooooooooooooooooooooo.<br />
<br />
<br />
We could have been so happy with little danshiki clad babies running round the house shouting<em> “Mummy I want nono!”</em> Now that will never be and all because of THAT WOMAN! I will never speak to her again.<br />
<br />
<strong>There, there Mariah from Ilorin. Stop blaming your mother and using her Egyptian cotton sheets to wipe the snot from your nose. And just a warning for the future…Refrain from crying in front of any man. We are not attractive when we cry. She's said she's sorry and has tried to make it up to you. The generator has been on non-stop for a whole week just to make you happy. Look, I thought you said under no circumstances were you going to succumb to his charms anyway? So why all the drama? </strong><br />
<br />
I know, but he smelt like candy, looked like candy and laughed like Count Dracula. What girl could resist that? <br />
<br />
<strong>A normal one? </strong><br />
<br />
It will take more than her burning diesel to make it up to me. Short of her bringing me an identical BB guy, I ain't interested.<br />
<br />
<strong><br />
</strong><br />
<strong>Don’t worry we’ll find you another candy smelling, fruit loop to fall in love with ok? Maybe if we got out of bed, had a shower and brushed our 100% almost human hair we might have a better chance of meeting someone else.</strong> <br />
<br />
Look leave me jare. Let me wallow in my misery in peace. I shall stay hidden under the duvet until I can no longer stand the smell of my own sweaty body. I don tire for this Eko jo. Someone book me a flight outta here. I need a new start where people don’t trample on your love life just because they carried you for 9 months and suffered 14 hours of apparently excruciating labour. Story…Can’t have been that bad woman or you would have remained celibate afterwards instead of popping out a couple more kids.I can’t take it here anymore. If I’m not being mentally assaulted by my mother then I’m being judged every where I go. <br />
<br />
Nigerians are the most tactless bunch of people I’ve ever met. I mean as far as I’m concerned just because I happen to be a pair of boobs with legs doesn’t make me a whale. I happen to be nicely rounded thank you very much. But the number of comments I get about my curves is bordering on harassment. Must I look like a bonga fish before everybody leaves me alone? Just the other day some pervo client that’s been making my life hell with his unwanted advances sent me a pervy forward. Just I was about to delete it I noticed he had saved my e-mail id as my name and in brackets right after that was the word “Orobo”. I did a quick double take.<br />
<br />
Na lie. See this idiot? Not only has he violated me by sending a rather nasty and explicit fwd about boobs. He has the guts to insult my fine self to my virtual face and then copy his gang of no hoper friends into it? I don’t even care if they sack me, I’m so telling him his life story whilst simultaneously kicking his bony ass. With his wowo,” Never see dentist before teeth” and “Wind no carry me away” suit. Na condition bend crayfish and made you a manager even though you can’t speak English. Otherwise why in hell would I ever interact with you? Upon all my orobo you still want to date me sha? And you think insulting me will make it happen? Wait I dey come. Your great grandchildren will marry before I even get in the same car with you let alone display my so called orobo body in all its naked glory. <br />
<br />
Everybody’s got an opinion here. I’m too fat, too short, too poor( I’m not poor! I just like cars that are painted yellow with black stripes),too snobby, too single, too loud, too rude, too old, too boring…the list is endless. At some point I was actually starting to question me!! Can you imagine? The Exotic One actually wondering if she was cute enough, sexy enough, clever enough or hip enough? As if. <br />
<br />
Look everyone stop judging me. I’m me! Take me or leave me, that’s your choice but stop trying to change me. I’m not suddenly going to become a size zero, "My handbag defines me" chick with flowing Madagascarn hair. I’m a sophisticated razzo who likes to slob around in her pj’s watching old movies and eating ice-cream out of the tub. I would rather roll around the carpet with my nieces and nephews than spend hours at some fashion show looking at stuff that now cost more than my college education because someone tacked some tassel on a piece of Ankara. <br />
<br />
I have a weird but wonderful sense of humor, I’m a clumsy, accident prone, bad ass cook, who makes a lot of dodgy decisions, loves shoes, eye candy and her family and friends. I’m not perfect and I don’t want to be perfect. I just want to be me and loved for being me. So if you can’t handle any of the above, I beg begin dey waka because I’m not going to let your issues become my issues. I have way too many of my own to deal with. Like I wonder if BB guy is a boxers or briefs kinda guy? Oh gosh! What if he’s all commando, all the time? <br />
<br />
<strong>Erm... Are you ok? You have a glazed look in your eye?</strong><br />
<br />
That's it! I'm not letting a commando,candy smelling guy escape my clutches. I shall have my mother sectioned if necessary. Where's my phone?<br />
<br />
<strong>Mena!!!! Don't do it! Think of the shame.</strong><br />
<br />
Sod shame. Where's the darn thing? Its been vibrating all day but couldn't be bothered to answer it. Was too sad to talk. Now that I want it...Ah! Found it.<br />
<br />
15 missed calls and 1 BB convo. <br />
<br />
Lord! Can't people just leave me alone? Bet it's my sister looking for gist. <br />
<br />
Oh my God!<br />
<br />
<strong>What?</strong><br />
<br />
It's a BB from BB guy!<br />
<br />
<strong>Well aren't we going to open it?!</strong><br />
<br />
Too scared. Can't breathe...Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-64437546729898347902010-07-20T11:23:00.001+01:002010-07-20T12:16:31.130+01:00OK! Now you can panic.…and the sexual electricity in the car is enough to make NEPA redundant and power up the whole of Lagos for a year. Just as I’m puckering up for the snog of my life, he begins to laugh. <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>“You almost got me there Mena. Was that some kind of test to see if I had honorable intentions towards you? “</em><br />
<br />
Huh? <br />
<br />
Test?<br />
<br />
No test. Me wan kissy poo.<br />
<br />
The only thing I want to test is if your lips fit over mine mugu. I can’t believe it. I’m practically handing myself over to him on a plate and he’s playing the "Gentleman". Does he know there are men that would kill to be in his shoes right now? I mean if it was Boli Lover or Alhaji, I wouldn’t even have finished the sentence before I found myself in the backseat with my La Perla’s hanging off the rear view mirror.<br />
<br />
<em>“Well I do. Not looking to fool around.”</em> He says kissing me on the forehead<br />
<br />
Whatever Sir Lancelot. Keep your chaste kisses to yourself. I can’t plan a future with you so the least you could do is give up some hot loving. Argh!!! Just take my deprived ass home. <br />
<br />
He’s nattering on about God knows what as he drives towards my place but I’m no longer listening. I’m contemplating how long I’ll have to spend in jail if I manage to overpower him, drag him into the backseat and have my way with him. What is he? 5’10, maybe 120 pounds? I can take him. I’m sure tales of Kirikiri are all exaggerated and anyway I’m bound to lose weight in there. Darn! It’s too late. Home already. <br />
<br />
Fine Lord you win. I shall obviously not be getting my groove on tonight or any other night till my wedding day.<br />
<br />
He honks his horn to get the guard to open the gate and while we are waiting another car pulls up behind us.<br />
<br />
Oh Lord why?!!! Is this my punishment for contemplating naughtiness?<br />
<br />
It’s my mother’s car!!<br />
<br />
What’s she doing here? She didn’t say anything about coming down to Lagos today?<br />
<br />
I’m trapped. Even if I get out of the car and leg it, BB guy is blocked in. She would be on him like a rash before the poor guy could even say “Hi”.<br />
<br />
Great! Here she comes.<br />
<br />
My mother makes her way up to the car, ignores me totally and knocks on BB Guys window.<br />
<br />
He gives me a puzzled look and I hide my face in embarrassment. Thank God I can’t marry him because this is definitely going to be the last time he’ll ever want to see me.<br />
<br />
<em>“It’s my mother.”</em> I say.<br />
<br />
<em>“Oh! Cool!”</em><br />
<br />
oh! You silly boy. This experience will be anything but cool.<br />
He lowers his window and says <em>“Good evening ma.”</em><br />
<br />
<em>“En hen… Good evening. Who are you and why is my daughter in your car at this time of night?”</em><br />
<br />
<em>“Mummy please.”</em> I say. Trying to cut her off before she can say anything to damage my rep.<br />
<br />
<em>“Was I talking to you? Did you hear your name?”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“Mummy we just went out. So please stop bothering my friend with your questions.”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“N'gbo friend…are you bothered by my questions? Or doesn’t a mother have a right to ask where her unmarried daughter is coming from at this time of night?”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“Er…of course you do ma. We just went to watch a movie and I’m sorry if it’s late.”</em><br />
<br />
<em>“Look BB Guy no need to explain. I’m sorry about this.”</em> I say getting out of the car <br />
<br />
<em>“Mummy, please tell Tony to reverse so he can get out.”</em><br />
<br />
It’s like I’m not even speaking because the next thing she does is open his door and tell him to get out of the car.<br />
<br />
<em>“Come out my son let me see you. You’re very handsome o. Mena... he is handsome o. You try.”</em><br />
<br />
<em>“Mummy!”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“So are you married?”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“No ma!”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“Are you sure? Don’t think because I’m smiling with you I will not get my boys to deal with you mercilessly if I find out you are trying to turn my daughter into your concubine.”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“I would never dream of that ma.”</em><br />
<br />
<em>“Good boy!”</em> Says my mother breaking into a big grin.<br />
<br />
<em>“So fine boy with fine car. My daughter is fine abi? A little fat but I’m sure by the time you marry her and start using her in the way the good Lord intended you will burn all that fat right off her. You look very agile. You actually remind me of my husband at your age. Her father and I could…”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“MOTHER PLEASE!”</em><br />
<br />
I’m absolutely mortified. What on earth is wrong with this woman? Why does she think everyone wants to hear her reminisce about her love life? In one night, she has managed to achieve what my enemies having been trying to do for 2 decades…ruin my life. By the time he tells all his friends and they circulate the news like wildfire around Lagos, no sane man will ever want to date me again. Well, at least BB guy will no longer be available to me for lusting purposes after this, so that’s one problem solved.<br />
<br />
<em>“Why are you shouting? Can't me and your friend talk again? Or you are jealous?”</em> she says laughing hysterically. <br />
<br />
<em>“Don’t worry. I m not stealing your boyfriend away.”</em><br />
<br />
<em>“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“You are not a serious woman. At your age you are still doing we are just friends? Look! Young man. We are not looking for friends in this family o. We are looking for in-laws, so if you are not ready to become one oya enter your car and go.”</em><br />
<br />
Poor BB guy looks like he just woke up and found himself in a bad horror movie. He tries to get back in his car but my mother pulls him back.<br />
<br />
<em>“You mean true true you are going to go? You don’t want to marry my daughter?”</em><br />
<br />
<em>“Well Ma…”</em>says BB guy who has now broken into a cold sweat and is having trouble getting his words out.<br />
<br />
<em>“…It’s our first date and we’re still getting to know each other so haven’t really thought about marriage.”</em><br />
<br />
My mother gives him the evils and shouts for the MOPO’s.<br />
<br />
At this stage, even I have gone past embarrassed and I’m actually slightly concerned about the crazed look in her eye.<br />
<br />
<em>“Mummy please, just leave him alone and let him go.”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“Lamidi!”</em> says my mother ignoring me.<br />
<br />
“<em>Write down this boy’s license plate number and find out where he lives. He is to report here every evening for a month to come and get to know Mena. Should he not turn up even for one day, you are to go and find him and bring him here by force if necessary. After one month of getting to know her I either expect to see my future in-laws here with kola for her father or a full report on the reason why my daughter is not marriage material. Understood?”</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>“Yes ma!”</em><br />
<br />
Shame…kill me now.<br />
<br />
<em>“Tony reverse and let him go. As for you Mena…enter house.”</em><br />
<br />
Without even so much as a look in my direction, BB Guy gets in his car and zooms out of there and out of my life for good.<br />
<br />
This is going to be my last post people. I don’t think they have Internet in Kirikiri, which is where I’ll be tomorrow after I’m arrested for killing my mother.Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19172108.post-2681895752332372132010-07-19T17:03:00.000+01:002010-07-19T17:03:10.514+01:00OK! Nobody panic but...Oh my God! Is that a blinkin' spot on my cheek? <br />
<br />
I’ve had perfect skin for the whole year and then today of all days, this! As if that wasn't bad enough, I have nothing to wear!! Despite the 7 large suitcases I bribed customs to allow into the country, my wardrobe is a veritable desert of style. Damn! My shrinking waistline. Who said losing weight would make me even more stylish? They lied dammit! Or at least they should have mentioned the bank I would have to rob to replace my previous designer laden wardrobe. What am I going to do? I have a date and nothing to wear.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Did you say date? I thought you said you were just meeting up with a friend? Ah ah! No wonder you haven’t eaten solid food in three days and you almost peeled off the top layer of your skin in the name of salt scrubbing. Ashawo!</strong><br />
<br />
Whatever Brain. This is why I don’t always think true thoughts because I know you’ll be all up in my face about boring things like morals, logic and the way normal people behave. Yes! I’m going on a date. Yes!He’s just a friend and yes it’s too late to talk me out of it.<br />
<br />
<strong>Se bi we are going together? No probs. You better start praying I don’t decide to make your left eyelid start twitching uncontrollably halfway through dinner. Let’s see how hot your so called "Friend" will think you are when he assumes you have a mental condition.</strong><br />
<br />
You wouldn’t?<br />
<br />
<strong>Try me. So which one of your so called friends are we meeting up with?</strong><br />
<br />
Well remember BB Boy? The guy my mate Speedy Gonzales tried to hook me up with? He finally crawled out of the woodwork a couple of months ago, very contrite about the whole standing up issue. So unlike me, but I forgave him but decided never to agree to meet up with him again. At least that was the plan.<br />
<br />
<strong>Which kin forgiveness is that one? Do you own a different version of the Bible from everybody else?</strong><br />
<br />
Whatever! Anyway we started bbing and turns out he’s like the male version of me! So how could I resist when he asked me out again? <br />
<br />
<strong>Male version of you? Craze + Craze? Lord help us! Se you know I can’t allow such a union to occur for the sake of the entire universe? Can you imagine what would happen if you had kids?</strong><br />
<br />
Uuuhhh! Lil’ Mena & BB babies. Yum. Anyway, we got on really well and darn is he hot but unfortunately, as is always the case with my crappy love life, there was just one little snag... <br />
<br />
<strong>He’s gay? Sane? A cross dresser? Mummy’s boy?</strong><br />
<br />
Nope! He’s not Christian!!!<br />
<br />
<strong>Ahhhhhhhhhh|!!!!!</strong><br />
So mentally I’ve been trying to convince myself not to get all dewy eyed and lustful over him seeing as we can only ever be friends. In the good ol' days when I did not fear the wrath of the Lord, I would just have had my evil way with him and dumped him the minute I spotted someone who was more marriage material. Alas! I am now a changed woman and he will never get to play naughty schoolboy and saucy miss with moi. Kinda makes me wonder why I’m bothering to wear matching La Perla underwear?<br />
<br />
<strong>Because once an ashawo always an ashawo. I’m sure by the end of dinner you will have convinced yourself that you’re going back to his place to pray for his conversion to Christianity and that sleeping with him is your own sacrifice towards building a greater Christian army abi?</strong><br />
<br />
Weeeellllll….<br />
<br />
<strong>See ya life?</strong><br />
<br />
Look Brain I don’t have time for this. He’ll be here in 30 minutes and I’m still in my underwear.<br />
<br />
<strong>You might as well go like that and save the poor boy the money he will spend on dinner, seeing as the only thing you want won’t be on the restaurant menu.</strong><br />
<br />
Ignoring you now. I am a strong Christian woman and will not be led astray by hotness, a naughty sense of humor and witty banter. I can do this.<br />
<br />
Ye! I can’t do this o!<br />
<br />
My own don finish. He’s turned up to pick me up and before I even see him… I see the car. Now I know what guys mean when they say they’ve got a ha.. on for a car. Guess what he came to pick me up in? <br />
<br />
My Porchy Baby!!!!<br />
<br />
Brain! Its like devil’s saying <em>“See what you get if you allow naughty Mena to come out and play?”</em><br />
<br />
We no go let her come out like this? <br />
<br />
Hey! Brain stop making my eyelids twitch! <br />
<br />
Fine! No naughty miss.<br />
<br />
It took every ounce of self control to stop myself from running to the car, putting my head on its bonnet and stroking its lovely grey metallic finish. Instead I walked over, got in and was faced with the next temptation of the evening…Hot BB Guy.<br />
<br />
Hot car +Hot guy + Mena who hasn’t had either in a while = Straight to hell and a very lucky BB boy.<br />
<br />
All through out the evening I kept having to tell myself not to get all sex kitten on the poor guy. Just friends. No accidental touching, lips brushing ears whilst whispering in the cinema (Don’t mess with me o. I’m a pro.) or come hither gazes. Well at least I won’t be doing that but if he feels led to then who am I to stop him.<br />
<br />
On the way home, mine not his before you all start shouting, he cracks a joke about being a gentleman and taking me straight home rather than to his place and maybe it was the sugar rush from all that popcorn, the uncomfortable thong that nobody but me was going to appreciate or the endless months in the snogless desert, but something in me just snapped and I said...<br />
<br />
<em>"I know enough gentlemen, why don’t you try being something different?"</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Ennnnnn! Ashawo with first class honours! How did you manage to get that sentence past my ashawo defence system?</strong><br />
<br />
He looks at me.<br />
<br />
I look at him<br />
<br />
Porchy Baby looks at both of us, quietly screaming “Don’t you dare get busy on my Italian leather interior!!!” and ….Menahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06853834580402914615noreply@blogger.com2