The Boss 2

The email for Boss guy came in when I was gliding several 1000 miles over the Atlantic

towards my holiday destination…Good Ol’ Blighty; where shopping reigns and taking the bus is not detrimental to my aspiring bigz girlz status.

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.

Hello,

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.

Mena

SEND

You’re a hoe!

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.

Why didn’t you send a picture of you in nothing but nipple tassels? That might have been a tad more subtle.

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.

I pirry you. You know most office relationships don’t work out?

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.

Hoe!

Inconsequential organ!

PING

Uhhhhh…Brain he’s responded already!!!!!!!! He feels it too Brain. He feels the attraction that cannot be denied.

You sicken me.

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…

ARE YOU GOING TO READ THE DAMN THING?!!

Brain!

Really! This behavior does not become you. Fine lets see what future hubhub has to say.

 Mena!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 This is VERY late!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Yessssss… It might be a tad late but what’s with all the exclamation marks?

 Werrin happen? No be webinar or dey share money for the place?

Hahahahahahahahaha…Iyawo oga.

Where the love letter dey?

Ok Mena. Deep breaths.

Lets read on. There may be terms of endearment further along.

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. You will learn and you will learn fast that I do not tolerate this sort of slap dash, slow thinking behaviour on my team. 

 Jesu! My own don finish.

Slow thinking?

Modicum of intelligence?

Is he calling me stupid?

At all. He’s considering nominating you for the Nobel Peace Prize for nuclear physics…Hahahahahaha

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.

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.  

Regards

Boss Guy

What just happened?

Why’s he quoting Destiny’s Child lyrics at me?

Does this mean no Sky Lounge and Cayman Island wedding again?

BRAIN WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!!!

Boooooooooooo hooooooooooo…

And Bad Weave…That cow has somehow figured out my proposal scam and ratted me out.

How? How could this happen? I’ve only been gone 2 days.

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.

Chineke! Who said anything about being unemployed again?!!!

Boo Hoooooooooooooooo…He is gonna fire me isn’t he?

Maybe I should send a picture of me in nothing but nipple tassels? Oh Brain what are we gonna do?!

The Boss 1.

It’s been a while huh?

I know.

I’ve been depressed waiting for the axe to fall on my professional life.

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.

Digressing…It’s amazing no one has ever seen the potential of Linked In as a dating tool.

That’s because they’re normal and they know cyber stalking is illegal.

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.

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.

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. 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!


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.

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.

What?! I said he was hot, I didn’t say anything about him being bright.

Yep! You sure know how to pick em.


Wetin be your own? I go watch Snow White, chop popcorn and hold hand tire.

 I like this guy but he’s too suspicious jo. Always… questioning my actions.


“Why are you taking a bb picture of us sitting together?”


“Why are you calling me at 2am because you had a bad dream?”


“Why do we have to go to Kings of comedy together?”


“Why do you keep calling me Pookie when my name is Chukwu Emeka?”


I mean come on!!!! Does he want to be my husband or not?

Errr…No. He wants the seven figure salary and Ikoyi pent house you promised in your ad.


We all want that dear but do we all deserve it?

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.

I’m sure he’ll be heart broken


Sticks and stones Brain.

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.

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.

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.

Kinda feel sorry for him.The poor guy doesn't know what’s about to happen.


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.

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.

Mena no go baje

Damn it!

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”.

 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.

 Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!  Boo Hoo

I could be dead from non-nuptials syndrome by then.

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.

Brain take a memo.

Dear Uncle Fash,

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.

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?

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. 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.

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.

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.

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.  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. 

Uncle Fash Fash!!!!! Eko no go baje.

Your ever loyal constituent

Mena

PS: Do you have any vacancies in that your office? 

Revelations in love

I'm in church.

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.

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.

ALERT! TARGET ACQUIRED!

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.  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.

We Man Eaters…We know ourselves.

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.

Take that sister!  I think as I start to power walk towards the prize.

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.

Mennnnaaa!

Story. Na u go marry me?

Ah ha! Alligator girl just stumbled over a cable. Thank u Lord for signs and wonders. This bobo is mine.

Just as I come up to his row and make to sit down….the devil strikes

“Hello Madam can you sit on this row please?” says a stern looking usher blocking my path.

Damn it!

Ushers!!! Why are they always getting in my way?

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?

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

“Sorry... That’s my brother. He’s holding the sit for me.” I say, giving her my best “God fearing sister” look

God forgive me. God forgive me. God forgive me. God forgive me. God forgive me.

Oh no! Alligator Heels has beaten me to it.

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.

The girl is not even smooth. That’s sooooo been done.

Bad bele!

Wo’eva

“Are you sure that’s your brother?” Asks the usher looking quizzically at me

Kilode?! Na you get monopoly on brothers or what?

“Seems to have let your seat go.  Boys will be boys huh?” she says laughing

Hissss….Komot for road my friend. Enemy of romantic progress.

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.  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.

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.

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.

He‘s preaching and staring straight at me like we’re the only 2 people in the room.

Errrr…I think you’ll find he’s staring into the camera right above your head and not you.

Shut it Brain.

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.

OK you’re talking crazy now or should I say crazier than usual. Your blood sugar must be low…Eat some gum.

Sod the gum. I’m busy listening to the man who’s going make my mama’s dreams come true.

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.

MENA: 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.

AMC: Stop bbing in church you sinner. What are you on about? What stronger commitment?

MENA: Coming to mid week service.

AMC: Hisss…You’ve come to one mid-week service. Big deal. Your mates are shaving their heads and sleeping in church.

MENA: Wo'eva.  God has revealed my man to me.

AMC: *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.

MENA: Pleeeeeeaassse *Eyes Rolling*. She can have him. The pastor is in a whole different league*Love Struck*

AMC: Sorry did you say the pastor? That’s your God sent man?

MENA: Yep *Big Smile*

AMC: *Surprise*

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.  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.

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. 

What could have been so funny anyway?  

Hmmm...Not you again dude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m gonna do it dammit! 

Attagirl!

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

Phew! Saved from my own stupidity. 

Chicken!

Cluck off Brain!

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

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

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

Ahhhhh!!!! What is this?

I immediately pick up the phone and call my hairdresser.

No answer.

 So I fire off a text...

Floooooooooooooooooooooorencceee! You have started your madness again abi?

What is dis U have sent through Mr. Fortune?

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

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

Send.

Delivered.

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

My phone beeps. 

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

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

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

“My face” he yells

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

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

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

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

Who have I offended o?!

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

And what the hell does he want now?

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

Just Cruising

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

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

Would hardly call what you do driving. More like…

Shut it Brain! Was I talking to you?

Do I not know how to start the car?

Well yes…

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

Yes but…

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

You ran over an okada

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Err…yeah! Right now! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ori re ko pe?  Ta ni Booby Baby?

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

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

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

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

How the hell did he find me?!

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

Can today get any worse? 

I don't have time for this now.

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

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