Of men, cooking and bad dreams

“Simi wake up!”

Simi slowly shook herself awake. She had been dreaming. She looked at her left hand. No ring. She wasn’t married. Thank God. At least not to Chukwudi. OK she didn’t mean that. His mother was an angel.

“Simi naaaaaa”

Her brother Pam was on her bed. When will this boy start to hear word?

“What is it? Why did you wake me up?”

“You promised to take me to Chukwudi’s house today.”

First in her dreams, now this. Maybe that was why she dreamt she was married to him. The goat.

“Simi stand up naaaa!”

“I’m coming!”

Haaa! This boy was like a pain. He was like the g-string stuck between her butt. Like mascara on her eyelashes. Like a tight pushup bra. All things she loved quite alright but which were also quite uncomfortable.

“Toor. Let me wash my face.”

Pam was 17 years old. Her only brother. As she washed her face, she remembered her dream and burst out laughing. Married indeed! So this cooking thing followed her to her dreams? All well and good. She still didn’t like cooking. She had her doubts about if she would ever like it.

27. She needed a man. Why was she still single at this age? All her friends were married, some with children. Her unhealthy fear of commitment was eating away at her. Time to find a man.

“Hmmmm, make up just to drop me off at Chukwudi’s house, ghen ghen! “

Simi came back to earth and saw the tube of mascara in her hand. She hadn’t planned to make up. She had drifted. She closed it. “I’m not making up. I just wanted to check if it’s still remaining.

“Whatever. Let’s go.”

She called out to her mum to let her know where she was headed and went outside. Typical Jos evening. Cold and dry. Just like Chukwudi.

Time to get a man.

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