BEWARE OF THE THIRSTY CHIC.( A short story).


BEWARE OF THE THIRSTY CHIC.( A short story).
The thirst is real, don’t fall for it.

I met this girl on a dating app.
She seemed cool and exotic. She was nothing like any chic I ever saw. She was Cuban. Her name was Veronica. She had just turned thirty and posted beautiful photos from her trip to Paris. The photo shoot was professional and the main focus was her body.
She had a very beautiful face. Perky breasts and a butt that I would never call a BBL. She had a real small waist which led to a figure eight curvy set of hips down to her butt. She could comfortably balance a glass on her butt.

From her Instagram page, I was able to figure out the type of chic she was. She loved going out to eat and hanging out with friends. All her pictures were beautiful. She had a beautiful body and wore decent clothes. I mean they were not Fashion Nova or Shein. The last couple of women I dated were Fashion Nova and Shein shoppers. I could tell which store their clothes came from because I had stared at a time too many at the clothes I had to buy for my girlfriend at the time.

She was perfect. Her smiles revealed her perfect set of teeth and she seemed to laugh heartily. I could tell from the photos.
We exchanged numbers. She was eager to give me her number. In fact she requested it before I could even say anything. That was easy. Normally I have to push hard to get a girl’s number, but this one gave it to me on the platter of gold. I never had the best of luck getting women’s number on the first try. I always had to prove myself. It sucked. I once watched a girl give another guy her number a few minutes after I had asked and she flat out rejected me. I stared at the guy wondering what it was about him that caused her to reject me. I then realized he was driving a BMW. I watched in envy as she got into his car and sat in the passenger seat. I stared at my 2009 Toyota Camry. It was then I realized that some women were trash. The incident messed up my psyche for a long time.

There was one of two things I would need from Veronica. She could either give me play in form of sex, or she could be girlfriend material. Judging from her social media, she was going to be high maintenance. She had to be worth it for me to spend money on her upkeep. These days the women in my life moved in and out like a cyclone. I felt like I was losing control of myself because I dated a new woman every three months. Maybe my intentions were not clearly defined, but I knew that I ran through some women like my boxer shorts.

She called me at about 8.30pm. Her voice was silky and smooth. It sounded like light tickling in my ears. She asked how my day was and I had something to eat. I liked the fact that she was caring. The other thing was she could not hold a conversation long enough to keep me interested. She had limited knowledge of things and it reflected in her conversation with me. We chatted for a bit. I promised I would call her the following day. She sounded excited.

I could not sleep that night, I kept turning and tossing and asking myself if I only wanted her for play, because the type of things she talked about made me realize we wont have much to talk about eventually. It was too early to decide on one phone call, but it was my preliminary analysis of her.

We went on our first date a week later. I took her to a Brazilian steakhouse which she adored. She drank wine like a billionaire. I wanted her to drink as much as she could because I wanted to make her loose enough to see if she would give me play.

She did.

It was awesome. She was a beast in bed. I had to try to keep up. After two rounds of sex, she rolled over and asked me if we were an item. I mean what could we possibly be. I was not sure about being an item, but ended up in bed was one goal I hoped to accomplish.

There is one thing pussy can do to you.

It may end up confusing you.

What I wanted was free play and also make her eye candy. I was still stuck on the kind of conversation we were having. She held conversation like a high school kid. It was basic. She would ask about my day and things I liked. She always sounded like she had a checklist of things she needed to know. The conversations were more of a yes or no. Nothing truly expressive. She would text about the most random things with the most frequent question “what are you doing?” or at other times “I am bored, can I come over?”

I gave her a spare key so she could come in and out of the house as she pleased. It was the beginning of my nightmare. One minute she was nice and cooking dinner. The next minute she was accusing me of texting my ex-girlfriend. She once threatened to slash the leather seat in my car. I didn’t know what level of violence that was and why I deserved it, I realized she was probably obsessed. I began to have flashbacks of different red flags I ignored. During some of our texts in the beginning phase when I asked how she was doing, she would always reply with the fact she was bored and wanted to hook up. She always read the comments under my Instagram posts and asked about different women who either liked or commented. At first I thought the comments and gestures were harmless and then I realized that during arguments she would bring those women up and accuse me of having something to do with them. She was delirious.

After giving her my spare key, she became territorial. I had a worker check on me when I was not feeling too well. Ebony, a short haired down to earth chic who wore glasses and looked as serious as a bookworm was met with hostility. Veronica came to the house about thirty minutes after Ebony arrived. If looks could kill, Ebony would have been six feet under. Veronica made Ebony’s stay unpleasant. It was embarrassing. It was worse because I had to see Ebony everyday at work. The treatment she got at my house would end up at HR if it could be possible to be fired from non office hours, I would get the slip.

Veronica was beautiful, but dumb. She felt she had found a great guy and wanted to keep me at all costs. She was not ladylike, she smoked like a chimney and drank like a brewery. She could cook up a storm and fuck good in bed. Those were things I could get from any other woman. With that said, I knew she had to go.

The next time she tried to come in unannounced, the locks were changed. Her number was blocked. On to the next

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I WAS THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

Men don’t marry who they love, they marry who is in front of them when they are ready.
Iran into my ex a few weeks ago.

I had not seen him in three years. He got married and had two kids. He didn’t change much, he just grew a beard and had patches of white hair on it.

We shared a hug.

He seemed happy to see me and we chatted for a bit. He had moved out of state and was visiting with his family for the holidays.

At the time, we had dated for a year plus and we broke up. Two years later, he got married. I was devastated. I kept wondering where I went wrong and what I did wrong.

It took a while to get over things by burying myself into work and hanging out with people who love me.

“So did you get married or are you seeing someone?” He asked looking at my hands. He was probably checking for a ring.

“Well currently happy and single, there are too many fish out there, gotta catch the best one,” I replied with a smile.

“Nice,’” he replied nodding slowly.

“So how is wifey and the kids?” I asked.

“Family is good, it could have been different,” he replied.

“How do you mean?” I asked wondering what could have been different.

He hesitated and looked at me.

“You were the one that got away,” he replied.

I almost chuckled.

“Really?” I asked with a smirk.

“Yeah, and I regret it.” he replied.

I didn’t know what to say, a part of me wanted to stick my tongue out at him, but I didn’t.

‘Why do you regret it? You married her, I thought you love your wife, she gave you a beautiful family.” I responded.

He nodded thoughtfully.

“You are right, she gave me a beautiful family, but you were the one I loved. When you were with me, I wasn’t ready, when I met her I was ready and that’s why I married her.” he replied.

“Well at least the point was to marry her when you were ready,” I told him.

“Yes, but you were the woman I wanted to marry, you were my soul mate, you made me happy and I don’t know why I messed it up, why i didn’t see that .” He responded.

It was not so news to me. Back then we operated like an old couple, we finished each other’s sentences , laughed at each other’s jokes. We had a routine. It was fun. It was great then. But not anymore.

I didn’t say anything.

“The man who gets to marry you will be the luckiest man alive, I hope he knows that.” he told me.

I smiled.

“He will know that, he will marry me and I will treat him like a king, because only a king recognizes a queen,” I replied.

He flinched.

I didn’t care. The truth had to be told.

“I agree, wifey is not in any way like you, I regret it, if I was single, I ..” he began.

I pretended like my phone was ringing and put it to my ear and I held up one hand for him to excuse me.

I briskly walked out of the door and went towards my car. I had to get away this time. I didn’t want to hear his regret about his wife. He married he and had two kids.

I had to get away, once again.

Sometimes we are never ready for the best things that are sent our way. We regret it once we lose it.

MOVIE WEEK

It’s the holidays and there is no better time to watch Christmas movies and shows that you’ve been wanting to catch up with. So here is a list of suggestions of shows you can watch this season.

Riches on Amazon Prime

This show is about a beauty supply Dynasty. A man dies and he’s too estranged kids show up at the wheel reading. The older daughter was nominated to take over the company to the dismay of the stepmother and her kids. It’s a six episodes long, but it’s such a good watch.

Far from Home on Netflix

The show was so good that I literally watched it twice already. It is about a young man who has so much difficulty accomplishing his dreams from paying black tax to family to constant struggles and things that put him into trouble. He gets accepted into an academy exclusively for rich kids through scholarship. Watch how his street smarts help him navigate his life in school and at home.

How to ruin Christmas, The Baby shower on Netflix

If you have watched season 1 and season 2 you should know for sure that season 3 would be such a great one. Here beauty is pregnant and her mother and mother-in-law try to put up both agenda reveal and a baby shower which goes into shambles watch as the family scandal unravels and different things happen onto the birth of the baby. If you need a good laugh, watch this show.

THE SEX TAPE (2)

“You are pregnant,” my friend Ari blurted out in shock.

My eyes were red from crying. How could I face my parents with the crazy news that I was six weeks pregnant? I had no symptoms, no nausea or the common symptoms. I just realized I was always tired and sleepy by the time i was in my third period class.

“Yes,” I replied there were so many thoughts on my mind.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I pleaded. I didn’t want anyone to know.

“But you need to tell him,” Ari replied. I put my hands in my face as I sat on the toilet seat in my bathroom.

“How do I tell him?’I asked angrily.

How could I be so careless?

Ari gave me a questioning look. Her eyebrows twitched. “You open your mouth and tell him, that’s how,” she responded and rolled her eyes.

I know she was being sarcastic, but it was far from what I needed.

I sighed. Graduation was about a month away.

What if I started showing?

What would my parents say?

They would be disappointed. This was not what they had planned for me.

I remember standing in front of Jason at the school gym. I waited for his basketball practice to be over. I had rehearsed my little speech several times in front of the mirror. I also practiced his facial expression on receiving the news and his countenance afterward.

‘Hey,’ he said casually as he shut his locker.

“Hey” I replied quietly. He gave me a questioning look.

Are you okay?” he asked.

It was the first time in weeks we had spoken. It was an awkward encounter. I had said horrible things to him. I didn’t want to see him or even answer his calls or texts.

“Not really” I responded, avoiding eye contact.

He kept looking around as if he suspected he was being watched.

“What’s the problem?” He asked. I felt his eyes staring directly at my face. It was such an uncomfortable feeling.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I told him. I was not sure what his reaction would be when I dropped the bomb on him. but I also didn’t want his friends passing by and catching him in his feelings. I mean reacting.

“I have a date with Sheila in about half an hour, say what you need to say so I can leave,” he said coldly.

A few months ago, he didn’t sound like this. He was warm and friendly. Sheila decided to take my spotlight, and right now I looked like trash.

“Okay, maybe now is not a good time,” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied and began to walk away.

I watched him walk away as he pulled out his cell phone from his backpack.

I decided on the spot that I was not going to tell him.

“What do you mean by, you are not going to tell him.” Ari asked. She was at my house studying for the Biology test we were going to take in the morning.

“Sssshhh” I said. Ari spoke too loud. I didn’t want my mom, who was upstairs to hear our conversation.

“ I said what I said Ari,” I told her as I drew in my biology lab notebook.

Ari shook her head.

Three days later, after so much convincing from Ari. I mustered the courage to tell Jason. I told him to meet me at the Hamburger shop down the street from his house. We went there on our first date. I wished today would be all smiles and rosy like a first date. My heart was beating fast, but instead it was beating fast for a different reason. I had something on my chest I needed to get off. I decided to have an abortion. I prayed he would want the same too. It hurt my heart that we could have made great parents, but we weren’t ready.

He pulled up five minutes after I sat by the window. It was a fairly busy day at the hamburger shop. A few students were sitting at different tables chatting and laughing. He walked in and scanned the room to find me.

He walked towards me with a nonchalant gait.

“Hey,” he said as he pulled the chair and sat down.

I nodded in acknowledgment.

“Do you want some to eat? I am hungry, I could use a burger,” he asked.

I politely declined. He shrugged and went to the counter to order the burger.

He came back a few minutes after with a white ticket in his hand showing number 43.

“So what’s up?” He asked.

My heart began to beat faster. I stared at him, hoping he could read my facial expression, and also hoping the word ‘ pregnant’ would show up on my forehead without me saying a word. Instead, he stared back with a blank expression on his face.

“Jason, I found out something.” I began trying to pick my words carefully.

“What did you find out?” He asked.

“I am a few weeks pregnant,” I blurted out in response.

His face contorted into a frown. The reaction I expected from the beginning.

“How did this happen?” he said in a quiet but angry voice. I felt tears welling up my eyes. He was going to blame me for getting pregnant when it was a joint thing. It was me and him. He told me he loved me. I was naive.

“We had sex Jason, that’s how this came about,” I replied. My smart words stung him. The look in his eyes instantly became hostile.

“Of course we had sex,” he replied. “Have you told anyone yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” I lied. Ari was the only person who knew. She didn’t count.

“So what do you plan on doing with it?” He asked.

He just called the pregnancy ‘it’.

I was so shocked I could not reply.

“I will tell you what, I have my whole life ahead of me. This basketball scholarship means everything to me. I can’t put my life on hold for a baby, so let’s get rid of it,” he said.

I was not surprised. I tried not to show any emotion, but a tear decided to betray me by running down my left cheek.

THE PATERNITY TEST

Some secrets are best untold.

“I am sorry,” she said as she sniffed amidst tears.

I could not believe what I heard. My wedding is in two weeks, and my fiancee, is standing in front of me with the confession that can make me walk away right now.

I can’t.

I had been through so many relationships, and Victoria was the best thing that happened to me in a long time. Why did she do this? I loved her so much. Why would she betray me? She betrayed me for a few minutes of pleasure with her ex.

It would have been bearable if the story had ended with sex between them. The goodbye sex because she was getting married and would be restricted to sex with her husband for the rest of her life, or maybe her marriage.

She was three weeks pregnant.

I was excited.

I wasn’t sure it was mine, she said it was mine.

“Victoria, why would you even do that? I mean, am I not enough for you?” I asked, I was trying to hold myself together, but the tears began to roll down my cheeks.

She was crying.

“I understand if you want to call off the wedding,” she responded as a tear slid down her right cheek.

“No, I am not calling off the wedding, it’s in two weeks. I just want to know what got into you to make you get into his bed and have sex?” I asked.

I could punch her right now.

She looked so fragile, standing right in front of me begging for her relationship.

I mean, why wouldn’t she run back for last minute sex with him? If she had her way, she would be married to him instead of me. He came from a family of social elites. Victoria didn’t fit in. They match made him with someone of their own social standing and threw Victoria out like dirty water in a dish. She was hurt.

Then she met me.

I was the scapegoat for her pain. It took a lot for her to love me. She kept making excuses why she couldn’t love, because she was scared of getting dumped. It was a frustrating few months, but with time she came to love and trust me.

I thought we were in a good place, and then this?

We got married two weeks later, as planned.

She was such a beautiful bride. I almost choked on my tears while we exchanged our vows. A part of me was still hurt by her betrayal. The part of the wedding ceremony where whoever objected needed to speak or forever hold their peace was the longest one minute of my life. We had to wait on anyone crawling out of the closet to objet to do so.

Thankfully, no one did.

Two years later, our daughter June turned two. She was a feisty little girl with beautiful brown eyes and hair pulled into two ponytails everyday for school. She was two going on twenty. She was the boss of the house, giving myself and her mother a run for our money. We had a dcotor’s appointment and showed up at the General Hospital.

We ran into Victoria’s ex, the one she slept with before the wedding. He was cordial. Victoria seemed uncomfortable. I gave him a firm handshake and made eye contact, but he kept staring at our daughter, June.

“Beautiful girl,” he said, not taking his eyes off her.

June looked at him and blinked. She pulled out her sunglasses from her little red bag, the one she would not let go off.

“Thanks,” Victoria replied and pulled June closer to her.

“You are welcome,” he relied with a smirk. “She could be mine, you know,” he continued.

“Excuse me,” I retorted before Victoria could say anything.

“I said she could be mine, let me guess, she is about two years old, and the timing is about right. She has my facial features, especially her forehead,” he responded.

If we were not in public, I would have punched him. It was the audacity to claim June. He was disrespectful.

“She is not yours,” Victoria replied.

“How are you sure? There was me and there was him,” her ex replied with a smile.

I couldn’t blame him. Victoria’s promiscuity put us in this situation to receive insults from her ex.

“Enough,” I said in a loud voice.

A few heads in the crowd turned. I ignored them.

“So you think June could be yours?” I asked icily, looking into his eyes.

“June is not his,” Victoria said firmly.

“Be quiet,” I told her angrily.

If she was faithful, I would not be reeling from insults from her ex. This was a challenge.

“I have no doubt, she is mine,” he replied.

“Really?”

“Yes, we can take a DNA test if you want,” he suggested.

If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead by now.

“Is that right?” I asked.

“Sure,” he replied confidently.

For the first time, I realized that June may not be my child. Experiencing doubt like this as a married man was disheartening.

I agreed to take a DNA test.

It’s been three months.

I moved out of the house. Running into Victoria’s ex ruined my marriage. It was not the same after that.

We both took the DNA test to confirm if I was June’s dad or if he was. It was apparent Victoria didn’t use protection while sleeping with him.

I was foolish to continue ahead with the wedding. This was not supposed to be a Jospeh and Mary story, because Mary was a virgin, but Victoria was a harlot.

The tests came back.

He was not June’s father.

Neither was I.

SCANDAL OF A FIRST LADY

The coming election was dependent on the votes of the people.

The coming election was dependent on the votes of the people.

I needed the votes of these people more than anything. I needed to become the first lady. I can’t remember how long I’ve been obsessed with it, but it was something I’d always wanted to be.

Since I was a child, I watched several world presidents hold their first ladies by the hand and stand in front of everyone. It was such a thrill. I wanted it.

First lady!

The first female citizen of the state. Imagine being addressed as the First Lady. Let’s practice First Lady Mrs.

Is that how it’s said? It doesn’t sound correct.

I need to ask questions.

First Lady!

Another name that the pastor’s wife is called in church. Not really. It wasn’t the kind I wanted to be. I didn’t want to sit there and take charge of all the women in church. The ones who gossiped were the ones who were hypocritical. I wanted to be a first lady in government, and so far my husband was a senator. He had given me a great life. We lived in the suburbs. Our children went to private school. I had maids and drivers at my disposal. I had women’s brunch every month with my best friends. I served in church giving to charity and orphanages. Deeds had to be public. They had to be seen, and approved by people. I had my own YouTube channel, where I sat down and became a therapist to women in bad marriages.

The ones that needed to leave, but instead they stayed.

They stayed

i) Because of the kids.

ii) Because of what other people would say.

iii) Because they didn’t think they could find love or a better man than who they were currently with.

I feel the reasons are pathetic, but who am I to judge them?

The comment section was filled with love from my fans and hate speech from women who I felt were chasing clout. I talked about basically everything feminine. I shared my wardrobe with people. The ones filled with designer stuff, perfumes, shoes, handbags, including I also V-logged my trips to foreign countries on vacation. We were in La Rochell, France last week, and Bilboa, Spain the previous week. Montego Bay, Jamaica was the next on the list with my female friends.

My husband wasn’t in support of sharing the intimate parts of my life on my YouTube channel. He didn’t want us to be a target for getting robbed. I understood where he was coming from, but with more than twelve orderely’s in the house and other domestic staff, it would take a long time for anyone who wanted to rob me to get through.

Life was good.

It was great!
Three months ago, my husband made his intentions to run for governor known to his party members. As soon as he made that announcement, it was as if all our enemies and village people had crawled out from the woodwork. Bloggers, journalists, paid and unpaid were everywhere looking for the next best story to tell about my husband and I. There were joking for the good, the bad and the ugly. I noticed that bad and ugly news were best sellers, and those would start early. Smear campaigns, poor journalism, and the comment section were guaranteed to sell out the best stories.

My personal assistant had told me about a meeting I was supposed to be having with a new orphanage that I picked to take care of. I was getting ready in front of the mirror. My husband walked into the room. He was dressed in a suit. I hadn’t seen him in a suit in a long time. This is what campaigning does. Normally he was dressed down in a shirt and jeans, but this time he was fully dressed in a three piece suit. Today it wasn’t Sunday, so I wondered where he was going dressed like that.
“Where are you going dressed like that?” I asked.
“I have a meeting. There are a few investors coming in today from France,” he replied.

“Investors?” I asked confused. “What are they investing in?”

“It’s a project that’s ongoing. I can’t tell you the details right now. I’m looking for a yellow Manila envelope that I left on the bed yesterday. Did you see it?” he asked, looking distracted.

“A Manila envelope? No, I haven’t seen any of such. Where did you leave it?” I asked.

“It’s only both of us who are in this bedroom, except for domestic stuff that comes in here to clean. I left it on the dresser, where I leave things that are of importance to me.”

I could feel the retort in his voice. I decided to ignore it. I didn’t have time for him this morning, and I didn’t want him to spoil my morning mood.
“I haven’t seen anything like that,” I responded as I powdered my nose with the foundation. “What is in it?”

I asked curiously. It had to be money. That was the only thing you put in such envelopes. The important documents, like deeds if you ask me.

“Are you trying to sell property?” giving him a sharp look through the mirror. He wasn’t staring at me. He was busy fiddling around the drawers looking for the envelope. He kicked the right leg of the bed out of frustration.

“Arghhhhh, you ask too many questions? You are breaking my concentration,” he said. His cell phone began to ring. He threw a frustrated fist punch into the air and answered the phone.

“I can’t find the document, I am running late. It may be in the office, but I am sure I left it at home. I will head out now,” he said to whoever the caller was. I lined my lips with the lip pencil and applied lipstick.

“Honey, I have to go, I will see you later,” he said and kissed me on my forehead.

“Alright darling, have a wonderful day,” I said.

He walked out of the room.

I continued with my make-up, a few minutes later I looked out of the window and saw the huge gates open. The Mercedes Benz drove out.

I walked to my purse closet and pulled out my Hermes bag from the top shelf. I opened it and pulled out the yellow Manila envelope I hid in there. It was time to figure out the contents. I opened the envelope

THE CHRONICLES OF A LAGOS MECHANIC

Christmas that year was meant to be fun.
There were so many “I just got back,” also known as IJGB. These were returnees from the diaspora who were home for the holidays. Most of these people either went to school or worked there. They come home on holidays during Christmas season. The economy booms during that period, there’s so much money to be spent, so many parties to attend. Every day from December 17th were Christmas parties, some sort of office parties, and family celebrations. There was the worst type of traffic one could ever imagine on both sides of the road. Most events were in the island, and when it was time to go, people who lived on the mainland would encounter traffic going in their direction. There are also a variety of accents everywhere. The British accent and the American accent most especially. It was all fun and games.

My shop was located in the highbrow area, and my target were rich folk. I became a master at fixing car engines, transmission and other small car problems. It was a lucrative business, but the prayer was to have a car breakdown everyday. The roads and traffic in Lagos contributed to frequent visits to my shop by the owners.
Mrs. Gentry stood in front of me, her hands on her waist. I had to think of a lie to tell her so she could leave. Her Lexus had been in my care for three days, and she had been blowing up my phone to know when she could get the car back. I was busy with other cars.
“You have been avoiding my calls, so I decided to show up. Is my car ready?” She asked as she towered over me in a red and yellow fabric. Her head tie was intimidating. She was married to a wealthy politician.
“The car is not ready yet,” I told her, avoiding her gaze.
“What do you mean by the car is not ready? You told me you were working on it,” she bellowed. She was using scare tactic. This was not going to work.
“Madam, when the car is ready, I will call you,” I said as I put the spanner I was holding on the floor. My hands were greasy.
“My daughter is coming back from the UK tomorrow. I want her to drive the car while she is around. Do you want me to pay you extra so the car would be ready on time?” she offered. I sensed the desperation in her voice. She didn’t look a day older than forty, and she was standing here telling me she had a daughter in the UK who is old enough to drive. In my next life, I want to be wealthy.
“No problem, anything you have I will accept,” I told her. She opened her red purse and pulled out a wad of one thousand Naira notes and handed it to me. I counted it. Ten thousand naira.
“ Tomorrow at noon, I will be here to pick up the car,” she said with an air of finality, and walked to the black Mercedes Benz with the driver sitting in the driver seat and the engine running.
As soon as she closed the door, the driver sped off, leaving behind dust that sprayed the next car.
One of the boys came out from under the hood of the car he was working on.
“Just like that,” Tajudeen said and laughed.
“My dear, I can’t complain,”
“What is wrong with the car?” He asked, walking towards the navy blue Lexus R350
“Nothing major, it just needs tune up,” I told him.
“Oh okay,” he replied and walked away briskly.
Just then Nwando walked toward the shop, she was the daughter of Mama Aku, who sold food. Nwando was the youngest and smartest. She was in her final year in the university studying law.
I made my intentions known to her, but she always called my bluff.
I hadn’t seen her in a long time, she looked beautiful. She was wearing a shirt yellow dress, which made her legs look longer.
She had a plastic bag which, held food plates.
“Where is Taju?” Nwando’s clear voice rang out.
“ Ah, Nwando, won’t you greet me?” I told her as she avoided looking in my direction.
“Taju!!!” She called out, ignoring me.
Taju ran out of the shed he had walked into a few seconds before Nwando showed up.
“Why are you shouting my name?” He asked.
“When I inquired about you, didn’t you hear me?” Nwando said, giving him the side eye.
“Sorry, don’t vex please, I just went inside now now,” he replied, trying to chide her. She didn’t crack a smile.
“Here is your food, two plates of rice and then plantains on the side,” she informed him.
“Thank you,” he said, and pulled out a five hundred naira note from his pocket. He handed it to her.
“Where is mine?” I asked playfully. Nwando looked at me and acted like she was about to smile, and frowned.
“Did you order food?” She asked, darting her eyes at me.
It was one of the things about her that made me fall in love. Her dimples and her piercing eyes.
“Can I order food now?” “ I asked. I wanted to see her again, so anything to make her come back.

Ada stood in front of me, she held her Iphone to her right ear while I stood waiting for confirmation. She mumbled a few things into her phone and hung up.

“Listen, you can’t expect me to pay thirty thousand naira. I just fixed the catalytic converter last week, and now it’s something else, I am tired,” she said exasperated.

Ada brought her Honda in, and once again, it was a minor problem. I was charging triple the amount to fix.

“No problem, let me give you the part number and you can buy it yourself,” I told her. If I could bet my last kobo, Ada would definitely not go and look for the parts.

She eyed me.

“I am not going part hunting, I am sorry. I will give you seven thousand naira, and when the car is fixed, I will pay you your balance,” she informed me sternly. In the last month and a half, Ada had spent close to one hundred and fifty thousand naira on her Honda Accord, which was about five years old. She didn’t have a man in her life. She had a good job and was the type of client I could milk dry, because not only was she a damsel in distress, she trusted my knowledge.

“Seven thousand is not enough,” I told her as I eyed the money in her wallet.

She gave me the side eye.

“Figure it out, I have a Christmas party to attend tomorrow, I will pick it up by 2pm,” she said as she stuff the wad of notes into my breast pocket and walked away.

Two cars had to be ready tomorrow. how will I make this happen?

COUNTERFEIT

COUNTERFEIT

This is one of my favorite books this summer. It addresses luxury goods.

Designer handbags are every woman’s candy from a candy shop. These days we can’t really tell which is fake and which is real. Every woman wants to look wealthy and display class. The story was set in San Francisco and China.

There was a report that the purse at a Louis Vuitton store was a knock off. Imagine paying a fortune only to find out your purse was a knock off.

This problem was addressed in this book which I thoroughly enjoyed. A new mom, Ava Wong who was a Stanford graduate an attorney and a new stay at home mom and happily married had an old friend who has showed up in town. She ran a leather manufacturing business where goods were made. Apart from the fact that it was a business, it was illegal.

Ava Wong hit a turbulent time in her marriage and turned to her friend Winnie who promised to help her, she took advantage of the situation and made her start selling her goods. Things get out of hand when a purse is discovered to be a counterfeit at a boutique store and brews an investigation.

This promises to be a good read. So much information and lessons learned.

Here is the link to buy the book.https://amzn.to/3nnMd7p

I make affiliate income from sharing the link.

THE SEX TAPE (1)

When you bury your past, avoid friends with a shovel.

When you bury your past, avoid friends with a shovel.

I had just moved to Berkley from Arizona. I got a new job working for a lab. It wasn’t just the job that made me move to Berkely. I had met this hunk of a dude. He worked in tech, a six figure earner, and he was starting his own consultation company.

We met on Tiktok and started messaging and liking each other’s video. He planned a trip to Sedona, which was about two hours from where I lived at the time. I had a fun experience, we went hiking and also on a spa date. I didn’t want the date to end. We had a great weekend together, dining, hiking and enjoying each others company.

We decided to become exclusive. It was something I had begged for all my life. Every man I dated in the past made me feel I had to work for their affection.

This man was different. He showed care. He was empathetic. He could afford luxury.

I was on cloud nine with this man.

He lived in California, and he encouraged me to move so that I would be closer to him. I didn’t like Arizona so much. I moved to Arizona for college, and I was stuck there after college and landing my first job.

California seemed such a nice new place to start. It was a more expensive place to live in. I didn’t mind. The love of my life lived there, and I knew things would work out somehow.

I applied to several companies and got called by a biotech lab in Berkeley. I got the job. I was ecstatic.

I moved to California three weeks later.

The company paid to move me there.

The beginning of my problems started when I posted my huge win on Facebook.

“Hiya…… California, here I come. So excited to start a new life with a boyfriend and a brand new job,”

I got a lot of likes. Comments from friends and old classmates congratulating me on my huge win and new journey.

I got a private message from my old childhood friend. We lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same middle school and high school. Ari moved to New York after high school, and I never saw her again.

“Hey Cece,” she wrote.

I was excited to hear from her. I wrote back and we began chatting back and forth. She had moved to San Francisco and was working for a tech company. I was excited to have someone else I knew who lived in the same town.

“Have you heard from Jason? “ she asked me.

It reeled back a lot of memories I had vowed to forget. Jason was my first love, he was my everything. He was a tall six foot three inch fair skinned boy. He played basketball and was on the school team. He was everything, but at the time I was more into him than he was into me. I played second fiddle and loyal girlfriend while he cheated on me with Sheila, a popular cheerleader who was an only child with wealthy parents. I was angry because he cheated on me with her. I found out and got upset. He tried to play it like it was nothing. I didn’t care I wasn’t going back. It sucked because it was senior year. It was supposed to be a memorable last few weeks. He became spiteful and bitter. He probably bragged to his friends that he would get me back, and so far the plan was not working. A few days later. I found out I was pregnant. My whole world was shattered. How could I tell Jason I was pregnant with his child? He would be livid. It would end his basketball career. The career he

wanted so so bad. It was his ticket to the basketball scholarship he wanted. I told Ari about the pregnancy. She told me not to tell him. It was the biggest mistake of my life.

BREAK MY SOUL

Beyonce has done it again. She has been silent since “The Carter” album from 2018..The hiatus was long and this new song ‘Break my soul’ has the beyhive hyping it. It garnered 6.5 million plays in the US on the very first day. It is currently known as the “Great Resignation anthem”. The masses are here for motivation.

Beyonce is known to be a trailblazer. Her success on the new album is remarkable, she started in the nineties when all the album had to do was sell and is currently conquering the era where the album just has to be streamed. She is a force to be reckoned with because she has continued to do well every decade.

We can’t wait to hear the rest of the album. We are just wondering how much the tickets to the tour would cost?