My raison d'être isn't to tonguelash anyone. It isn't even to be a straight shooter. It's to tell my story about the times that I live in, using whatever medium I fancy. So when I received a call in which the caller declared that I was the finest tonguelasher in all of Lagos, I wasn't pleased. He also asked me what I thought about Style Mania magazine and I gave my opinion without thinking. I shouldn't have. I read their interview with Temi Dollface and I nearly died. I love Temi. She's incredibly talented, and she's humble, and she listens. I haven't seen her in a minute, but I don't mind this. This is life, it flows. If we are meant to see, we will.
And... It's about time that we moved on.
Yesterday I was sitting at Stranger talking about Audrey Tattou and other similarly affected topics when Soliat (a new but very reasonable addition to the Afamourage - that is the Afam entourage) started talking about jungle fever. I shall recount the ordeal as if I was her.
Yes, I remember the days of my youth; the days when I believed that all I really needed to complete me was a savage to rip off my blouse, and ravage me where I stood. I don't mean just ravage me. No, I mean RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVVVVVVVVAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGEEEEE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. If I get too excited I shall sweat, and if I sweat, I shall reek, and we can't have that. I wanted a ruffian, an area boy, the less refined the better, so I went out and found one. Yes, he couldn't speak without my back straightening, and my legs preparing for flight, but my body's defensive mechanisms didn't put me off. Believe me when I say I was determined.
I booked a hotel room and had him meet me there. When he arrived, I gave him some lynx shower gel and a sponge so that he would at the very least smell like something familiar. He came out of the shower like a tarzan and my mind was screaming, "Take me now!!!" He bounded to me and ripped my shirt off. I was besides myself. I was ready to ravaged, but then I saw his face approaching mine, with his tongue hanging from his mouth like some sort of trout, and I couldn't take it. I literally squealed and fled.
That was when I learned that fantasies should be left as fantasies, and that snobbery is soul deep. I'm not proud of myself but it's true. I'm too much of a snob to schtoop a ruffian.