The Little Old Man

A little old, Black man came to clean the windows today.  He did a wonderful job.  The windows are now sparkling clean.  Any moment now, a bird might flight right into one of them - or at least, that is how it usually happens on TV.... like the Windex commercial.  But then again, with my recent clumsiness, I might be the one to walk right into it.

The little old man talked me to oblivion.  I only heard about 15% of what he was saying.  50% of the time, I was not listening at all, and 35% of the time, I just couldn't make out what he was saying.  It might have something to do with him missing about half of his teeth.  It also didn't help that most of his speech was in Ebonics.  Even when I was not giving him eye contact - something that should have told him I was neither listening nor interested - he still went on talking.  I think he just needed someone to talk to.  I know he said something about his brother who was in jail for 35 years before being released.  I might be wrong, but I think he said his brother killed someone.  Like I said, I might be wrong.  Understanding the little old man was kinda hard.  I also know he said something about him having been in an accident.  And something about six thousand dollars.  I know for a fact that the little, old man told me he was worth half a million.  When I didn't respond or react, he went on to add, "That's five hundred thousand dollars."  Oh, what I could do with five hundred thousand dollars right now! :-)

I barely responded to anything he said, but at a point, I was on the phone talking, so he must have detected my accent at that time.  After the little, old man was done cleaning, and finally ready to leave, he figured he'd ask me of my nationality - even though he was pretty sure he knew already.

Little Old Man: You from Jamaica, right?

Me: No.

Little Old Man: But you from Africa, right? (This implies that he, like so many other people, think Jamaica is in Africa.  Why?  Cause we're all Black?)

Me: Yes.

Little Old Man: So where you from in Africa?

Me: Nigeria.

Little Old Man: *Smiling a confident smile as someone who knew the exact location of Nigeria* Oh, I know Nigeria!  That in North Africa.    I come from the North too, but mines at North Carolina.  They ain't too far from one 'nother though.

Most times, I'm ready for the most outrageous comments/questions about Africa.  But on some days (like today), I am not quite prepared.  So I could have told the Little Old Man that North Carolina was nowhere close to Africa, but I was just too tired.  Besides, the opportunity cost of telling him was too high.  You see, he was already at the door, his hand on the door handle, ready to leave.  If I had told him that North America and Africa were not close, he would have taken his hand off the handle of the door, walked right back to me and begun another speech.  That was too high a price to pay.  I figured, "Well, he's an old man.  He's probably lived most of his life thinking this way.  Of what use is it to correct him now?"  

Yes, it was selfish of me.  But don't blame me; I'm not as selfless as those from North Carolina.  

It's Over

It's over between us.  Even though I have not officially broken up, I know it's over definitely over.  I might be wrong, but no1 ever goes into a relationship and hopes for it to end.  In my experience, the hope for it to end comes @ a later time - after the excitement and passion (which by the way are sometimes only a figment of one's imagination) has washed away and your eyes open up to the big mess you have put yourself in.  It is @ that time that one begins to wish for the end of the relationship.  It can also be referred to as the "Oh, Crap" moment. It appears that I have come to that moment and time.

After the agonizing, almost-self-mutilating, physical and emotional trauma I suffered from my previous relationship with my boy shorts, I swore to never, ever, ever be caught with an uncomfortable underwear.  I only started wearing boy shorts because of how pretty and colorful they were.  Talk about being shallow!  After I exited that relationship and successfully sought some counselling, I began to wear Hipsters.  They were my all and all, my soul mate in underwears: beautiful, colorful, and oh yes, comfortable.  Have I lost you?  Well, let me clarify: Yes, I am talking about my underwears.

The hipster underwear really hasn't done anything to me.  It has been nice to me.  Maybe that's the problem.  It has been too nice.  I now realize that the hipster was the rebound underwear, an underwear that I fell hard for just because I was in pain and needed someone something to comfort my pain.  So that is the story of how my butt cheeks fell into the warming comfort and embrace of the hipster.

Now that I'm feeling better (and totally over the hurt, pain, and suffering I experienced from the boy shorts), my eyes have opened, and I realize that the hipsters are just not sexy enough!  They're not even all that colorful.  Alright, I lie.  They're colorful enough.  But in terms of sexiness, on a scale of one to ten, the hipsters have 2.  See, that just isn't enough.  These hipsters don't make me feel sexy.  They don't make me feel all girly inside.  They don't compel me to dance in front of my mirror with a can of hair spray as my microphone while I gleefully, confidently belch out the song, "And I am telling you... I'm not going/ You're the best man I've ever known/ There's no way I can ever go/ No, no, there's no way/ No, no, no, no way/ I'm living without you/ I'm not living without you/ I don't wanna be free/ I'm staying... I'm staying/ And you, and you.../ You're gonna love me/ You're gonna love me....."  Well, you get the idea.  No need to type out the entire lyrics.  

Seriously, the hipsters don't make me want to sing this song.  Sure, I don't have the voice for the song, but that is sooooo not the point.  Instead, the hipsters make me wanna sing, "When a woman's fed up/ It ain't nothing you can do about it/ It's like running out of love/ And then it's too late to talk about it..."  So you see, it's obvious I need new underwears.  The question is which ones???  No, I will not wear thongs/g-strings/t-strings or whatever goes between my butt cheeks as my regular, everyday underwear.  The fact of the matter is that I am pretty content with the natural slice that God has put between my butt cheeks, so I do not intend to make the slice bigger by putting a string in it everyday.  Come on, people.  Think of something.

Z 

.... In case you're interested, my love affair with the hispters started here.

Apparently, I'm Married

Thanks to everyone who was wondering where I went off to.  Well, let me ease your curiousity: I didn't go anywhere; I was just tired.  So you see, there isn't much gist about these three days of absence.  Thank you also for listening to my audio post.  I hope the next one will be better.  Now... on to today's issue.

My people, e be like say I don marry.  Yes, I am married.  I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but you see, I just found out myself too.  My cousin-turned-sister in London wrote me the other day to ask why I did not tell her I had gotten married.  I surprise no be small o.  Me, married??  You people know that when I get married, I will have my weddings in more than one location, and UK is definitely one of said locations... so what gives?

I told my mother about the alleged marriage and we laughed about it.  Several days later, mom says, "Bia, Nne, somebody told me they heard you're married."   Of course, mom has refused to disclose the identity of this someone - not that I would have cursed the person out or anything.  Please!  Who has that time?  I would have maybe just asked the person, "Are my husband's eyebrows as funny as I imagine them?"  You know now!  Regular question that every bride should ask about her hubby.  Honestly, I was not mad when she told me this.  I was not even worried sef.  Worried?  For what?  As far as I was concerned, the person/people spreading this gist is/are just professing my future marriage, and for this, I was not only grateful, but also excited.

But then I thought about it some more today.  Hmm.  Could it be that my mother (and my entire family in fact) are planning a secret wedding for me?  Are they really in that much of a hurry to marry me off?  I do not understand how news of my wedding has gotten all the way to London, a City I have not been to since I was three years old... and yet, I (the bride) am yet to know of it.  E get as e come be ooo!  This pretense that everyone is playing is becoming very, very suspicious.

From now on, I will be watching my back.  Maybe they want some bad boys to just kidnap me, blindfold me, and then take me to a place full of guests (mostly people I don't even like), and then they'll untie the blindfolds and everyone will shout, "SURPRISE!!!"  I'll be dressed in my denim jeans and that tee shirt I have sworn to never be caught with outside.  Jim Iyke & Omotola Ekehinde will be singing a duo.  Well, she'll be singing, while he'll be rapping.  Oh, the horror!  Tufia kwa.  It will never work for them.  All these rumor mongers will not succeed in doing this thing they're planning on doing.

If not for anything, this surprise wedding thing cannot just work because I have plans.  Remember all the things that have to happen once I get engaged?  Hmm.  By fire, by storm, I must accomplish all those things.  Now, if I am just being paranoid (and no1 is actually trying to plan me a surprise wedding)....  what then could be the cause of this gist?  

**Now  that I think of it sef, the other day (more like the other month) I attended an event, an old friend from high school said to me, "Hey, long time!  I heard you're married."  I don't know if he was joking or not.  At the time, I thought he was joking, but now with all these recent developments, I'm not quite sure what to think.  The event was last month.  Think it's too late to call and ask him what he meant by that?  

Xcuse Me For A Second (Or 3 Days..)

Hey sexy people!  Happy one week anniversary of Easter.  Your darling Vera is a little tired, and is taking an involuntary leave - with or without your permission.  She promises to be back on Wednesday, April 22nd 2009 @ 12 midnight her time (Eastern, U.S.) - with or without your permission.  

This isn't what I was going to blog about today (well, technically, this isn't even a post).  However, since I am here already, let me use this wonderful opportunity to let you in on a few things.

1.  Have you heard of Jaguda Dot Com?  No?  Well, check it out then.  It was on this site that I heard Jim's Iyke's song, "Who Am I?" featuring 2Face, and it was also on this site that I watched Omotola's video, "Feel Alright."  My reaction to both: No comments.

2.  My audio post on the African women is out.  Check it out.  And be nice with your comments.   Thank you in advance.  :-)

See you Wednesday!

What Recession???

In spite of the economic strife that everyone finds him/herself in, I remain untouched.  I am not even perturbed by all the financial woes that people are in.  I'm sorry that people are losing their homes and jobs, and I'm sorry that some people don't even have food to eat, but as for me, the economic wahala is yet to touch me.  And considering this genius idea that I have for staying afloat, I can go ahead and assume that I will be just fine.  No, I do not have a mega-paying job...and neither has anyone left a fortune for me.  I have only used my brain to come up with a genius idea.  Now, indulge me for a few minutes while I share with you...because I want you to make money too.

I have decided that I will get married very, very soon.  Sure, I'm not engaged - YET, but don't worry, God will fix that.  He has a way of listening to me.  No, I do not intend to milk my husband - although that's not a totally bad idea.  What I intend to do instead is to give birth to about twenty to thirty girls (and a few boys - just to make my husband happy).  I am aware that the Nigerian mentality is that boys have more value than girls, but considering the economy, girls have wayyyy more value.  Boys bring you nothing but diminishing returns, but with girls... oh boy!

I asked myself these three questions (which I learnt from my Econ class in high school): What to produce, how to produce, and for whom to produce.  The results were astonishing!  My only regret is that I didn't think of it sooner.

What to produce: Baby girls.

How to produce: Seduce hubby.  The rest is history.

For whom to produce: All the [capable] bachelors.

Yes, so you see ... with the twenty to thirty girls that my husband and I will breed, we will document every penny we spend on them.  When a man asks for any of our daughter's hand in marriage, we will pull out our "output sheet" and calculate the simple interest plus the capital

Formula: Principal (amnt spent) X Rate (interest rate) X Time (her age)

100

Example: $200, 000 X 25% X 25

100

 

In the economic world, this formula is used to calculate the simple interest.

In our (my world and hubby's), this formula is used to calculate the bride price.  Whatever amount I get from that calculation will be the interest.  It has to be added to the principal in order to get the actual bride price.  I wish I could tell you the amount that my example up there will come up to, but my calculator says, "memory overflow."  Hehehe.  Ah, that is how my and hubby's bank account will be overflowing with CASH!!!  Calculators won't be able to handle it.  Those money counters will break down trying to count our money.  We might even start using our money as toilet tissue.  I tell you, my husband is a lucky man.  His wife has marvelous entrepreneurial skills.  He hasn't married her yet, and she's already planning on how to overflow their accountS with money.  Hmmph!  What can I say?  Some men are just plain lucky!  

Of course, as with every business, there is always a risk.  Ours lies here: what if our daughters decide to join the convent?

Unlawful Prisoning of Condoms

Dear readers, how was your Easter?  Hope good.  If so, to God be the glory.  The main aim of writing this post... Oh, the good ol' letter-writing days in secondary school!

Soooo... I was jejely (innocently minding my business) walking past the condom aisle in Giant Food Store when I spotted the unimaginable.  I had to go back and take a second look.  Yeap, Giant locked each box of condoms in a plastic, indestructible box.  (Okay, maybe it was destructible, but still...)  Imagine that!

Look @ this; they are all in prison.  This is no way to live.  This is America.  Where is the freedom???

At least, there were specific instructions on how to bail them...

I was an innocent passerby; no, I was not shopping for condoms, only to realize they were prisoned - obviously against their will.  I was actually in the store to buy my favorite yogurt (La Creme - strawberry flava.  Used to be Vanilla until March of this year, but anyway...).  I was walking past the condom aisle - more like it was adjacent to the middle aisle - not that I walked right in front of it.  Okay, why am I taking all this time to explain that I was not condom-shopping?  I'm starting to sound guilty, and I'm innocent, darn it!  Stop looking @ me like that.

So I cannot understand why the Giant people have the condoms locked in boxes.  Have people been stealing condoms, or do the Giant people just want to see the embarrassed looks on people's faces when they take one big box to the cashier to bail a box of condoms out?  Unless, of course, people are no longer embarrassed to buy condoms.  When I worked for mom's pharmacy in Naija (about 10 years ago), people would muffle their words when they asked for condoms.

Imagine if you were going to see your husband in Naija or something, and you'll be staying there for a month.  Exactly how many of these boxes are you expected to take up to the cashier?  Speaking of which, I wonder if condoms are sold wholesale.  And now that I think of it, I don't recall ever seeing a "Buy 10, get 10 free" sale for condoms.  How come??  Don't the condom people want users of condoms to be safe?  Anyway, if you were a man buying condoms wholesale (maybe like 300 of them at once) and the cashier were to be a Nigerian male, he'd probably say something along the line of, "Nawa oo!  Oh boy, na how many congo you wan shine dis weekend?  Abi na blom-blom (balloons) you wan blow dey give pikin?"  I'd like to see a mother's reaction when she finds her child/children blowing condoms.  That should be interesting.

So back to Giant... If people have been stealing condoms, I'd expect the Giant people to be happy.  At least, that means they're practicing safe sex.  This reminds me of when the Lifestyles  people (a brand of condoms) came to my school and distributed all manners of condoms.  That was when I knew that condoms were flavored.  What the hell for??  Do people lick them?  Condoms even glow in the dark.  Again, I ask... what the hell for?  Maybe in case NEPA takes light and you need help finding "it?"  It wouldn't be hard; you'll just need to follow the glow.  Or maybe if you need a hard glow torch?  I don't know.   

Anyway, LifeStyles distributed all manners of condoms and stickers to us.  I had all my condoms in a bag which I just dumped in my room.  Then one day... mom found it!  She almost passed out.  This was one instance where the line, "It's not what it looks like; I can explain" came in handy....and was even true.  I was so naïve, I tell you.  I had a Lifestyles sticker that said, "Just wear it" and I never knew it was referring to condoms.  I proudly stuck that sticker on my bookshelf.  It was several years later that I realized that the picture in the sticker was a penis.  If I had known then what I know now, this sticker would be nowhere near my bookshelf!  Which kin yeye message am I tryna send...?  And to think that I have so many Christian books in this bookshelf sef.  What can I say?  I've had my moments.

Yeap... definitely a penis.

...And yes, I realize there is no such word as "prisoning."  I just like the sound of it.  Sue me.

The African Women Are Here

Well, not yet, but almost.

In case you haven't heard, I and eight wonderful female bloggers now run a collaborative blog. It's called The African Women. What better name for all nine of us - Me, Shona Vixen, Temite, Afrobabe, Tigeress, Ms. Sula, Buttercup, WordSmith, and Good Naija Girl? We will be discussing things as it relates to us - African women (and men, of course). Rumor has it that there is even a post coming up about married women and oral sex. Before you start protesting, I am not the one who is responsible for it this time. You'll just have to watch and see.

Oh, I know what you're wondering, "What is the nice, sweet, innocent Vera doing with these deviant people?" What can I say? I'm someone who tries to be friends with everyone - yes, even people like Afrobabe. LOL. I have been made to understand that she is dangerously in love with me, and my presence turns her on, but I will try as much as possible to stop that from happening. Although, I must admit it will be an uphill climb seeing as she's so undeniably hot for me. But anyway...

There is just one twist here. I will be losing a bit of my anonymity *sigh* No, I won't be showing my face. I will, however, be doing audio posts. Writing posts for Verastic Dot Com is strenuous enough, so I will not be taking up anymore writing commitments. Instead, I will do something I've always wanted to do: audio posts!! I'll probably introduce audio posts here some time in the future.  Considering Original Mgbeke's comment, I should stress that I will not be speaking any phonetics, biko!  I am very, very, VERY Nigerian ooo.  There will be no smii-smii or sumpidi sumpidi sumpidi (sound effects of phonetics) coming from me, so biko, expect a very Naija babe oh.  Mgbeke, mind ya sef!

My Verastic voice will debut on Saturday, April 18th. I'm supposed to be talking about something related to women...obviously. As I type this right now, I haven't got a clue what I will be talking about. If you're thinking about suggesting oral sex, then I'll have to say, "No, thanks!" I am now known as the oral sex girl. For someone who isn't getting any, I have to say I'm getting a lot of publicity on this issue. It's all good. No publicity is bad publicity, right? Well, I sure do hope so. But something tells me my mother will faint if she visits this blog. And if my Deeper Life aunt visits it... oh boy! Forgerrabourrit. Anyway, back to the issue... I don't know what to talk about. Ideas are welcome.

Speaking of ideas, The African Women (Yes, all nine of us) will be taking questions from you, so please, feel free to send your questions - anonymously even, if you want. The email is theafricanwomen@googlegroups.com I doubt if all nine of us will answer each question. Perhaps, we'll pick and choose which question(s) to answer... unless you want a particular blogger to answer it. Example, if you want WordSmith to answer your question, please specify. Perhaps, you could put "Attention WordSmith" in the subject?

Let me make a few clarifications:

1. No, The African Women blog is not made of "predominantly single agony aunties" as Roc Naija said. By the way, Roc... I hope you have received the very hot slap I packaged to you via express mail? lol

...Okay, so it was just one clarification. Well, whatever.

Anyway, see you on Monday. I'll have an interesting post coming up. Well, I hope you find it interesting. In the mean time, don't forget to give me ideas on what to talk about... or else... I won't be talking. Oh, and if you don't like my voice, keep it to yourself. lol. See ya!

** Don't forget to give me ideas for my audio post. You can leave a comment here or send me a private mail - vera@verastic.com

** Please pray that I don't burn the pot of Egusi soup on fire. Sleep is kind of catching me. History has shown that I burn food when I'm sleepy... or blogging.

The African Women - http://theafricanwomen.blogspot.com Blog roll us...and your life will never be the same. A trial will convince you. :-) LOL.

God, this sleep is too much. Get thee behind me, satan!  I shall not fall asleep.  I must stay awake to proclaim the goodness of my unburnt soup.

***Update***

The soup is well, alive... and obviously not burnt.  Shall we dine?

Let's Talk About [Oral] Sex

I can just see the excitement on everyone's face.  You sex-deprived lot!  Consider this post a rejoinder to my post, Bless Me Father For I Have Kissed.  Now, in case no one noticed, the operative word in the title of that post was KISSED.  As in, we were supposed to be talking about the critical issue at hand aka my predicament: the taboo in kissing before marriage.  

I happened to mention (in one tiny little sentence) that it was also mentioned during the dinner/conference that oral sex between married couples is a sin.  Just because of that small sentence, everyone abandoned the issue @ hand (my predicament) to talk about why they must have oral sex when married...come rain, come shine.  Even Banky W commented.  Rumor has it that he was right in the middle of a concert when he heard Verastic Dot Com published a post saying that having oral sex with his future wife was a sin, so he quickly stopped the concert to come & comment.  Okay, I lie.  I am the sole starter and spreader of this rumor.   But it could have been true... no?

After eighty-seven comments, five truths have sufficed: 

1.  Una too love oral sex (you love oral sex too much)!!  

2.  You will all have first-class tickets to hell.

3.  You will be at the honeymoon suite in the penthouse of hell.

4.  I'm not going with you.

5.  I'm really, really, REALLY not going with you.

So a lot of people asked where it says in the bible that oral sex between married couples is perversion.  I have looked through the bible, and of course, I cannot find the following exact words (if that is what you are looking for):

"Thou shalt not suck on your neighbor's penis."  OR "Thou shalt not lick your neighbor's vagina."  No, those words are not there exactly.  However, the following words are there:

**  "Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; that is detestable." (Lev 18:22)

**  "Do not have sexual relations with an animal and defile yourself with it.  A woman must not present herself to an animal to have sexual relations with it; that is a perversion." (Lev 18: 23)

**  "Let us behave decently, as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery..." (Romans 13:13)

** The acts of the sinful nature are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambiton, dissensions, factions of envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like..." (Galatians 5: 19-21)

These words are not mine obviously.  They are from my bible (Women of Faith Study Bible.  NIV).  ADifferentNaijaSpec, I hope these bible quotations have answered your question about what is considered a sin.  Direct any further questions to God.  LOL.  

Nice Anon asked, "Is feeling for the size of the thing considered or can it be counted as kissing too?  I ask because no one wants to end up with an Asian sized thing.  You know they are known for having peanut sized thing."

Ehm... Madam Nice Anon, I will go ahead and make an educated guess here: God will not approve of any feeling for the size of "the thing" before marriage.  LOL.  I might be wrong oh, but something just tells me there is no way to explain that to God.  Besides, how many Asian "things" does it take to prove your hypothesis?  Plenty!  So how many have you felt?  If your answer is "at least half of the Asian population," I'll give you my advise: stay away from the Asian men.  Ha ogodo nwoke aka ka ogodo nwoke ha gi (Leave men's trousers alone so that men's trousers will leave you) .... so says my mom.... and no, not to me!  That is what she used to tell our help, Nkechi.... right before Nkechi got pregnant.  It is safe to assume that Nkechi didn't listen, but anyway...

Per the comments I'm receiving, lemme clarify something up: The reason why "orgies" is in bold is because I mentioned it as a sin in my other post.  I put it in bold here as reinforcement.  The relationship between oral sex and animals?  Well, technically none.  But the conference I attended considers oral sex as perversion while the bible considers sex with animals as perversion.  It might help to read the first post, Bless Me Father For I Have Kissed.  Now that we have tackled this oral sex problem, can we get back to the issue of my kissing or lack-of-kissing  palaver?

P.S. For those that want to know who I have been kissing... send me a Range Rover Sport and we can talk.  But the most important thing is that My Kisser would prefer to be addressed as My Kisser (not my Kissee as someone/some people called him) because he initiated the kiss.  Hey, I'm just the messenger here.  *wink*  If you need clarification, direct your questions to him.  I'll be sure he gets them.

Your thoughts?

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Today is my daddy's birthday.

I want to type a long poetic, literary post, full of twists and turns, full of enigmatic sentences that have conspicuous meanings.  What an oxymoron, I know.  I want to write an epistle about my daddy and talk about how he is a tall Iroko tree in the forest, but you see, daddy isn't tall.... or slender.  He's about 5'10, I suppose.  And he has a belly that has been pregnant for as long as I can remember.  Rumor (aka my mother) has it that the pregnancy is as a result of the bottles of Gulder he used to down.  Who knows really?  Daddy swears he doesn't have a big tummy.  He must see Will Smith's abs when he looks @ himself in the mirror.  But who am I to judge?

I haven't said happy birthday to him yet, but when I do, I know how the conversation will go.  It's the same thing each year.

 

Me: Happy birthday, dad!

 

Dad: *Surprised* Oh, nne, you're right oo!  Today is April 4th.  I almost forgot.

 

Me: You didn't almost forget.  You forgot.

 

Dad: Well...

 

Me: Well, nothing.  Happy birthday.  (I'd like to seal it with a kiss on his shiny head, a place where hair once used to reside.  It is now smoother than his face, and there is no evidence (other than old pictures) that hair once grew there.  No evidence that that once used to be a fertile ground.  Oh, baldness, what have you done to my daddy?  On the positive side, when the sun shines on that part of his head, it beams.  You should see it after I rub vaseline on it.  It's as clear as a mirror, I tell you.)

 

Yeap.  That's pretty much how the conversation will go.  He forgets his birthday every year.  I don't know what kind of person forgets his own birthday.  I look very much like my dad, and in some ways we are alike, but when it comes to birthdays and dates in general, we couldn't be more different.  I take my birthday very seriously; how can I ever forget January 14th?  I am even thinking about how to make January 14th a global holiday.  Apart from January 14th, I spend every other day of the year thinking about January 14th.  But this post shouldn't be about me...

So here's to wishing my daddy - father of Vera & husband of Mama Vera - a very, very happy birthday.

* Sometimes I think my father chose the wrong profession (medicine); maybe he should have been a comedian instead.  He really is a very funny man.  Besides, being a comedian would have saved my butt countless unwaranted and unwanted injections.  Yes, I may have been ill, but I would have gladly swallowed - even chewed - a carton of pills before taking one injection.

* My daddy, the one and only Ogbuefi Nnanyelugo of my life.  Per the title, funny enough, he's never killed a cow oo... at least none that I know of.  I remember plenty of goats - especially that one goat that escaped from my compound.  Dad was really vexed.  We were supposed to use that goat for Easter.  But who can blame the goat?  I'd have run too if I were him.  Funniest part was when we went to the nearby market to look for the goat.  Of course, it wasn't hard spotting our brown goat - amongst thousands of other brown goats.  Dad tried to guess our goat by looking at the eyes of the goats in the market.  Apparently, our goat would have recognized him; it would have been obvious in the goat's eyes.  Yeah, sure!  Needless to say, we went without a goat that Easter.  That was his punishment to us for losing his goat.  I couldn't have cared less.  I hated goat meat.

* My father, the man who farts out loud and forces us to hail him, "Ogbuefi Nnanyelugo!!"  The loudness of the fart wasn't even the problem for me; it could have been confused as the sound effect of a loud pot of boiling soup (some loud soup it woulda been though).  The problem was the stench of the fart.  I don't know what that man ate, but it was doing him something wicked.

* My father, the man who gets confused when he's talking to his employees and speaks all the languages in one sentence: English, Igbo, Hausa, & Russian.  The look on the employee's face is always priceless.

* My father, the man who ruined my chance to go home for one weekend when I was in boarding school.  I told him to come and talk to my Principal, a very strict Reverend Sister.  Dad was supposed to be meek and friendly.  Instead, when Sister Mary Patrick hinted hesitation in letting me leave for the weekend, dad told her she was very pompous and that it wasn't a very good look on a woman.  I obviously never did get to go home that weekend.

* My father, the man who comes home on Saturday night, heads straight for the kitchen, steals a big piece of meat, goes back to the bedroom, eats it and hides the bones under the bed.  When asked if he ate a piece of meat, he denies it squarly.  Never mind the obvious shiny lips he has and even the drop of oil stain on his shirt.  Pray, do tell, where did the oil come from?  It's a wonder we never had rats - considering all the meat bones that were under the bed.

* My father, the man who proudly sucked his mother's breast until she died.  She died after I was born, so she wasn't young.  He must have been sucking powdered milk.  If one needs a 'human subject" to study for the "effects of sucking mother's breast till she becomes a grandmother," I think my daddy would be a perfect candidate.

* My father, the only man I know of who puts his bread & egg in the freezer because it's too hot.  How hot can bread be?

Oh, happy birthday, daddy!!  May God continue to keep you alive and well.  May you never lose your sense of humor.   May you change from your mischievous ways of making us smell your fart.  Seriously... so not cool.  May you continue to be you (yes, I realize it means you'll continue farting for our inhaling pleasure).  Yippee ... aren't we lucky?  *rolling eyes*

He Proposed...

And I said, "Yes!" Now, calm down. Lemme tell you the full story. "I'll make this post short & sweet. And by the time I'm done, you'll feel one or more of these emotions: happy, jealous, confused, curious, doubtful, angry.... did I mention angry already? Hehehe."

Remember My Valentine??? Yes, the very same one who surprised me on Valentine's Day. Let's just say he's full of surprises.  And I'm really, really sorry for not telling you about the full story of our relationship.  I just didn't want to put everything out there.  Sometimes, one has to keep somethings personal.  In my next post, I'll be sure to give you details.  Everything you want to know, I will tell you.  But for now, rejoice with me on this please...!!  :)

Excuse my unmanicured nails; I didn't know I would be getting a marriage proposal.  My friends should have at least given me a heads-up.  Funmi, Busola, and Uju, I won't forgive you for this!

The Proposal: I came home yesterday to an empty house - no surprises there. I did the usual thing. Dropped my bag on the table, took my shoes off, and headed for the bathroom to empty my bladder. While in there, I kept singing this funny song, "I'm married to Jesus/Satan leave me alone..." Ever heard??

Anyway, I got out of the bathroom and went into the kitchen to get something to eat. I had just put some rice into the microwave when a classmate called me, so I picked up the phone. The earring I was wearing (also known as my everyday earring) tends to scratch the screen of my phone, so I took the earring off and proceeded to my bedroom to drop it on my dresser. I opened the door and met the shock of my life.

There he was - all six feet plus of him, on one bended knee, candles lit everywhere, and rose petals on the floor. I didn't know what to say. It felt like I stood there forever. I didn't even know when I started crying. I knew the significance of a man on one bended knee, but I didn't know why he was on one bended knee.  In my shock, I went to him and knelt down beside him, crying. I forgot I wasn't supposed to be kneeling down. He said a bunch of things. I don't remember now, but it didn't matter. I let him slip that beautiful ring on my finger. I haven't been able to stop looking at it and taking pictures of my finger. It was only after the kiss that I realized other people were in the room: my mother, my father, Funmi, Busola, Uju, Ireti, and a camcorder! I was crying. He was crying. Mom was crying. My friends were crying. Ireti was laughing. I think I saw a lone tear on dad's face, but he quickly wiped it off. I don't know what I did to deserve such a wonderful, wonderful man.

p.s. Now, if you believed the story you just read, please help me slap yourself twice: the first slap is for being so gullible. The second slap is for forgetting it's April Fool's Day.

p.p.s. The hand and the ring in the picture both belong to me. I keep the ring (and a wedding band) in my wallet because sometimes, I feel like being married. More like, sometimes I don't feel like being single. Actually, sometimes, I just don't feel like being flirted with. There, I said it.

p.p.p.s. You probably didn't notice, but in the first paragraph of this post, the words in quotations are in quotations and italicized for a reason: I stole the entire line from the post about.  My Valentine. Tehehe. The only difference is that I replaced 'jealous' with 'angry' (the one in bold).  So uhm, are you angry now?? Tehehehehehehehe.

p.p.p.p.s. My earring really does have that effect on my phone, and I really do take it off a lot of times.  So you see.... this post isn't a lie.  Let's just say I embelished the truth a wee little bit.

p.p.p.p.p.s. If it makes you feel better, you're not the only one who is gullible.  Even I, the one who composed this truthful fable, am starting to believe it.  Whew!!

...And ehm, my ring isn't bad for a fake one, ey?  Some real ones aren't even this nice!  Of course, you know how I feel about engagement rings, don't ya?