I Met Mr. Kisser.....Again!

If you don't know who Mr. Kisser is, please click HERE

Where do I start?? Okay, I'll start from Sunday morning.

My blogville husband, NaijaBloke (yes, we are still married!) came into town. He forgot his charger, so he came to meet me in church on Sunday morning to get my charger (which he was supposed to give me back later, but forgot to... but anyways... lol). I was to meet him later that night at a big party in Capitol Heights.

But first, I had to attend a little graduation reception. Busola's sister graduated from high school, so I went over to pay my respects. I didn't have time to buy her a gift, but I remembered to return her mother's plate - the one I used to take rice home in May. I was trying to find parking when I drove into something. I thought it was nothing until I was ready to leave and realized I had a flat tire. Crap! My front passenger tire was gone.

Busola's dad and uncle helped me fix my spare tire. I didn't even know I had a spare tire and a jack in my trunk. It's amazing how many things I don't know about my car. The spare tire, as I learnt from Busola's dad, was a doughnut. It was one tiny tire that looked like it belonged to a motorcycle.

In spite of my discomfort with the tire, I drove one hour to Capitol Heights to meet NaijaBloke. The party was bubbling. The musician was Mr. Solek. I had never heard about him till that day, but he was really good. The music was the kind that had you bopping your head and tapping your feet unconsciously. I really wanted to dance, but Funmi and the rest were not there to act stupid with me on the dance floor. NaijaBloke was on the dance floor talking with his friends and he asked me to come & dance. I was still sitting down doing shakara... until I spotted Mr. Kisser.

I jumped up from my seat and ran to NaijaBloke. I told him I needed to make a call, so I ran outside & called Funmi. The stupid girl just laughed @ me. I went back inside and went straight to the dance floor. I tried [unsuccessfully] to cover my face with my braids. That dance that I was doing shakara for ehn, I started dancing it immediately. I refused to look @ Mr. Kisser's face, but I had to watch him from the corner of my eyes to make sure he was not too close.

Eventually, our eyes met. But I chickened out and looked away immediately. LOL. Mr. Kisser kept looking @ me, but I kept dancing and acting oblivious to the pair of eyes that were watching me closely. I knew Mr. Kisser would not approach me as long as I was with NaijaBloke. But when I got tired of the staring, I told NaijaBloke that I had to leave. Really, I was tired, but that was not my main reason for running away. Bloke said I should give him 5 minutes. He went to talk to his friends. Those five minutes felt like five hours. I felt so alone. So vulnerable. So naked! Mr. Kisser was still watching me. He was trying to make me sweat. LOL.

Finally, Bloke walked me outside. If you see the speed I used to drive off ehn... I didn't even care that I was driving on a doughnut. Kai! Which kin wahala be dis? The reason why I really didn't wanna talk to Mr. Kisser was because I had been ignoring his calls. I had stopped picking his calls after that one conversation we had where he complimented the ebony skin that I didn't have.

I told my marine friend about my ordeal, and he had a good suggestion: next time I'm in such a situation, I should approach the person first and accuse him of not calling me or returning my calls. LOL. See me see madness ooo! If I had done that, Mr. Kisser woulda called me crazy. LOL.

Anyway, I fixed my tire yesterday (after visiting 3 different locations under the hot sun). They said the hole was so big that it could not be patched. I got a new tire. Don't ask me where the hell I drove my car into. I've been asking myself the same question. Bloke had the nerves to say that women cannot drive. I go wound pesin oo!

I Met Mr. Kisser

Who is Mr. Kisser? Read and learn.

On Saturday, I attended a Gala/Fund Raiser hosted by the Unique Ladies of Anambra State. My mother told me about the event two months ago and told me about my mandatory attendance because she had already paid the $75 ticket fee for me, which of course was non refundable. Why did she go and pay for me? She knew that was the only way to guilt me into attending it, and she refused to let me pay for it too. I didn’t want to go. I figured it would be one of those overpriced parties where one of two things will happen:

(1) It would be a tiny hall made for 200 people, but will be filled with 500 sweating Igbo people.
(2) It would be a huge fall for 500 people, but will contain thirty overdressed, over made-up women and 5 alleged husbands who will be openly having adultery of the mind.

But to my pleasant surprise, none of the above happened. The party took place at Martins Crosswinds, an upscale banquet hall located in Greenbelt, Maryland – about an hour away from me. The decoration was perfect; the spacing was perfect too. I mean, there was actually space to dance, and while dancing, nobody’s sweat was rubbing off of me. Great!

The Unique Women are beautiful and classy – no lies. If I were in their age group, I wouldn’t mind joining them. When the fundraising began, I was impressed. People gave in thousands…and in cash ooo! One man donated $4000. Donating $4000 in this time of austerity no dey easy o. Hmmm, I want to be like him when I grow up lol. Some of the Unique Women and guests had some funny afa otutus (nicknames) like ‘seven footer nwanyi’ (seven feet tall woman) lol, ‘unique sunshine’, and ‘Marilyn Monroe’. Needless to say, Marilyn Monroe was neither White nor blonde.

Fast forward to me taking random pictures of random people. I’m fond of taking pictures of people 4 the heck of it. Sooo, Mr. Kisser happened to appear in two of my pictures. He approached me and asked who I work for. I told him I do not work for anyone. I guess my big camera was sending the wrong message. LOL. But anyways, he asked how he would get his pictures. I told him I could email the pics to him, so I gave him a piece of paper to write down his email address where he conveniently included his number.

He later pulled me aside to talk to me. You know the regular questions. What’s your name? What do you do for a living? Where do you live? Yadda, yadda, yadda. He lives in Greenbelt. I live in Baltimore. About an hour difference. He asked for my number. I gave it. We parted ways and I went back into the hall to sit down and do some people-watching. The DJ put Shina Peters’s Afro Juju, which I love! But I had no intention of getting up to dance. My friends were not there to go crazy with me.

Next thing I knew, Mr Kisser pulled me up. He danced pretty well sha, but you know I had to hold my own. So I started going down too, showing off and everything, but mehn… my feet were killing me. I was standing there on stilettos that I had been wearing for hours and it wasn’t easy, but I refused to back down.

So I went down…. oh God… my feet.
I went down again… oh God… my thighs
Oh… God…. My knees.

I tell you, every time I came up, I felt woozy. It was as if I was about to have a brain fag. I was just too tired jare. I had hardly had any sleep, and I had spent the whole day at the library. Why didn’t I just back down? I suffered through the pain, smiled a fake smile and let myself be the object of attention. If only they knew what I was going through. Just when I thought the music was ending, the DJ had to replace the song with Yinka Ayefele…another man I love. Oh DJ, but why now?!

Fast forward to the end of the party. It was raining, so I volunteered to go in the rain and bring the car around for my mom & grand mom. Mr. Kisser was nice enough to walk me to the car, and that was when it happened. As I was about to enter the car, Mr. Kisser reached in for what I thought was a hug, but next thing, I saw a pair of lips rapidly approaching mine. Ah ah! Mr. Kisser, haba! My autonomic response kicked in with immediate alacrity, and I had to either fight or flight. Seeing as I was standing on stilettos, fighting was a lot easier. So fight I did. I had to push him off. He asked, “Why? Is it because you don’t know me well?”

Errr, duh!!

Haba! Na so dem dey get babe for your village? So just because we exchanged some little information, we should start swapping spit abi? I don’t even know what kinda particles are brewing in his spit. Abeg, Mr. Kisser…carry go. That is an abormination in my land ooo. Tufia kwa! My people, no be say I dey fear oh, but I used speed to enter the car and drive off.

I’m not gonna send him his pictures yet. Why? I told him my real name, and if I send the pictures, my name will appear. I wouldn’t want him to get bored and google me and lo and behold, this website will pop up. He called me today. Red flags were flying everywhere. For starters, he was at a noisy place with his friends, and his attention was divided. That’s a big, fat X. He complimented my ebony skin. The problem is that I’m not ebony; I’m light skinned. That’s another big, fat X. He told me I’m beautiful. I said thanks about twice or thrice. He said, “That was a compliment; you didn’t say thanks.” Uh oh. Another X. I might be wrong, but Mr. Kisser strikes me as one who will demand that I walk around with a t-shirt that says, ‘Mr. Kisser is Lord’.

Meanwhile, my strapless bra gave me this yeye burn or whatever you'll call it. I tried several times to take a picture of it with my Nikon camera, but my breast refused to stop appearing in the picture, so I had to use the camera of my phone. The Nikon kept auto focusing on my breast. Naughty, naughty camera!! I scrolled in as much as I could with my camera phone and stood in front of the mirror to get the shot. You see what women have 2 suffer? Hmmm, and to think I once used to be flat chested.

Finally, if you care to see a few pictures from the Unique Women's Gala, check out http://verastic.shutterfly.com