Dear Dairy, Well, diary, I am officially a hoe.
This is my story
I see you side-eyeing me, dear diary, and I am ignoring you. I was not a hoe before this, and if you ask by whose rules, I will also keep ignoring you.
It’s not like I go out expecting to meet that low-life, gutter-crawling cretin. The universe must like to use me as comic relief, because wherever there is a Kunle and an opportune corner, no matter my better intentions, my panties forget how to stay on.
Urgh. I hate him so much!
The man has refused to let me be. Or maybe it’s me who need to get a healthy shot of self respect along with the tequila I drank with dinner. Shey dey use am jazz me so.
See how it happened, hear me out.
Mary’s wedding finally came around o, she decided to go through with the ceremony-and the Joro’s blog-headed marriage to follow-even after she found out that the guy knacked one random girl like that at his bachelor’s party. If I tell you that I understand those people’s relationship, I am lying. Anyway, after looking critically at my pocket and the shoes I am yet to pay off from the last I bought, I declined the material and shoes she’d offered me at 35k. Thirty-five freaking thousand for that ugly lace and painful shoes I’ll never wear again! She kept face for me for a few weeks, but she came around.
So I went for her stupid wedding. I should have known I would meet him there; he’s one of the groom’s sleazy friends. I wasn’t thinking. And why should I? There was an open bar and I was dying for an opportunity to show off my ankara jumpsuit and the 5kg I’d lost since I dumped Deji. My face was beaten to perfection and my ‘gram was popping with the compliments.
I felt good, really good! Even better when I saw that the bride’s dress was so ill fitted, it looked like her boobs were going to pour out of the low décolletage if she took a deep breath. Knowing Mary though, that may have been intentional.
Slut. I have to give it to her anyway, the food was lit. I’d decided that I was going to cheat my new fruit and vegetable diet that day. I’d liberated some gbegiri and an excellent assortment of meat topped by a beautiful fried turkey thigh when I spotted him. Damn, my heart skipped several beats of trepidation as I ducked behind the fat woman piling everything on her plate and rapidly rendering Mary and her asshole new husband bankrupt. He was laughing, his perfect, demonically white teeth shining, looking stupidly handsome in a navy blue agbada and cap.
You know, typical Yoruba demon uniform. I thought I’d avoided him, but it turned out the fat woman sitting right acreoss me was huge enough to cover the entire buffet table but not enough to hide me from his devilish gaze. Back at my table, as I was trying to tear into a particularly stubborn piece of shaki meat, Kunle cleared his throat and pointed his blinding thirty-two in my direction, then sat right beside me in a seat vacated by a particularly chattery relative of the groom.
Just imagine the scene-my hand covered in stew, one almost-torn half of meat dangling from my lips, my lipstick smeared beyond repair.
See why I say that I must be a part of a hilarious sit-com designed to make God laugh?
I tried to salvage my dignity to the best of my ability, wiping and arranging myself while not looking at him. he sat there, smirking and looking infuriatingly perfect while I did. When I felt ready, I turned to him.
Well hello, Lucifer. What do you want?’
Only you could pull off this look,’ he nodded in the direction of my face.
Drop dead, I deadpanned. He smiled wider, ‘oh sweetheart, if I died you would miss me the most.
Then why don’t we find out? Walk out that door and right into traffic. I’ll help scrape you from the asphalt.
Girl, that mouth is just filthy enough to make me think of all the interesting things it can do wrapped around my
Lucifer. Go. Away.
Why? We both know you want me here.
And how did we get this information?
The voices in your head? Stop stalking me or, Or you’ll give in to the desire burning in your loins and try to exorcise some demons with me?’ He waggled his brows and I started rolling my eyes when I felt his hand on my thigh, making small, progressively higher circles that made my breath catch.
It was a leap, a whisper, a sigh and a funny tumble into the bathroom from there. I have this to say, they’ve got very cushy seats in the ladies , I mean, fur lined, bidet, the whole shebang.
And we found very inventive ways to use them. Yes, I’m side-eyeing myself too.
I am not proud of it, but when that man puts his hands on me, I lose all reason. Which is why I am sitting here tonight, digging into a pile of cake and telling you about how I lost my self-respect to Kunle. Again.
He did kiss me after, and throughout the festivities and dancing that followed I could feel his eyes on me. Maybe he has changed like he said. I should call him.
Margaret is a writer, reader and DIY enthusiast by day and by night. She loves ice-cream, warm hugs and a hot cup of tea at the end of the day. You can keep up with her on https://youknowshewrites.wordpress.com