Skip to main content

Stained

Monday morning, office set. I strut majestically to the bus stop. I can sense it, it will be a wonderful week. I am on time unlike my usual self, my heels are super comfortable and my mirror gave me wonderful news this morning. My bumbum looked two times bigger and I was super glad. Now, nothing could bring me down! As I kept walking, I was the center of attraction, people kept looking at my behind and I was glad that I did those squat exercises regularly.
7:32 and I am at work. I walk in effortlessly happy and flip my hair to announce my arrival. Everyone looks at my backside as I walk by and I am elated. Some people laugh, bad belle people, but I am unbothered. As I get ready to settle on my table, Anita drags me to the side.
"Girl, you're stained," she says.
I gasp and do a quick visual recap. People had been looking at me, shaking my nonexistent big backside because it was stained! I quickly run to the ladies room to get a glimpse of the stain.


...
Extra embarrassing, I am not stained with blood. The biggest secret of my nutrition routine has been unearthed. I eat Eba for breakfast because it is the only thing that can keep me emotionally compact all morning. All this is evidenced by the big stain of Okra soup splashed across the back of my beige coloured skirt.

I remember struggling with my meat and it catapulting out of my hands onto the skirt I placed on the chair. I remember grumbling at the thought of having to find another skirt but my desire to get to work extra early and showcase my big backside made me forget.
Here I was, with a seemingly smaller bumbum and an Okra painting upon it.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Proud to be Incorruptible

 The beauty of being a woman comes in various shades. It is the pride of being ‘unbewitchable’ unlike the male gender. For a woman can never be conquered by juju or black magic, only a man can. Only a man can be bewitched to lose his senses and become ‘snatchable’ by another women who disconnects him from his wife.  This in turn births another strength of a woman, a woman can break such ‘bewitching’ locks through prayer! Glory! Yes! Only a woman can pray her spouse out of infidelity for men are a breed immune to the gift of prayer. So when a woman is unfaithful, society knows, society can tell, a man is not expected to pray his wife back to her marriage for two reasons. One, she cannot be bewitched by another man for she is immune to juju and two, men cannot pray. The absence of the ‘bewitchableness’ of a woman is sometimes called into question particularly at burials of husbands. Yes, we try to make exceptions for women. Only widows can kill their husbands to inherit their property, b

The Heartbroken Heartbreaker

It took me how long to write this? Probably a million years! This piece is long overdue! Ladies and gentlemen, especially ladies, please do not feel particularly attacked by this piece. I am trying very hard to be honest. Last night, I thought to myself what my response would be if people ever asked me if I've been heartbroken and before I knew it, I had a long speech about how unserious men can be and how women suffer as a result of this. Then it occurred to me that, in the real sense of things, I have never had my heart broken by anybody. Please, please, please, I am not forming wonder woman or holy than thou, it is the simple truth! I came to this realization because, I noticed that if there was ever a time that I felt terrible emotionally it was because of my own expectations and unrealistic guesses. I really don't like to write things about love and relationship and stuff because it gives my readers too much opportunity to get into my head and sometimes, imagine things

3 AM

I woke up at 3 am. This was the best time to do it and get on with life, it was a time without souls on the walkways, just the regular night guards who were now familiar with my work pattern. I woke up at 3 am. Got out of bed and breezed into my silk dress, no underwear. A risky thing to do, considering it improved my chances of getting raped, according to some people. I didn't care. Whoever wanted to rape would rape, with or without my underwear. I woke up at 3 am, got to the kitchen and opened the back door. There, it laid  as usual, in a black thrash bag. I motioned towards it, hesitating for a bit. But why, this was my usual responsinility. I had to clean up over them and get rid of every evidence. Somehow, I felt guilty, a part of the larger evil in the world. I woke up at 3 am, got the 'package' and slid out of the house. I monitored my footsteps closely to avoid noise. I monitored the air to taste for human presence though my nostrils. I monitored everything but