These days I find myself having frequent conversations with the fat lady in my mind.
NOOOO… not that kind!
It seems that we agree more on things lately, this fat lady and I. She is my feelings, I am her executor. The part of my mind that lounges, chews on a berry, and has something to say about everything. I let her talk sometimes… when it is really necessary, other times I just take notes… because fat lady, she’s ham on rye. So on point. Never wrong.
She has no chill… the fat lady, I mean. She will tear you to pieces and have you for supper if you as much as come off as bleh. That’s why she’s so fat. That, and the fact that she absorbs the words that I read. Nothing in print(scrawls and scribbles included too!) passes before her without her scanning it. She sits in her favourite spot(probably somewhere between my eyes and almost on my nose)… so sedentary… and gorges on music and books and art and every other thing she can squeeze knowledge from and she absolutely refuses to exercise. What, and lose all that weight of wisdom? No way.
She has all these rolls of fat on her, thick bulbous folds of flesh, so meaty, so fatty. Irritating on mere mortals, becoming on her. Folds of knowledge… of experience, of music, of poetry, of literature, of science… so fat she is. If she hugs you, she envelopes you in her massive softness. So overweight yet so beautiful. So feminine.
She sits and spins webs of the most intricate of thoughts. She replays the tunes from music that I listened to even as far back as my toddler years. Why, just last week, she reminded me of “Memory” by Bon Jovi. Amazing amazing song. I gave her a mental hug for that. She says what she means and means what she says. She rarely gives second chances and her idea of world peace is everyone in the world holding hands in a circle with earphones in their ears. That’s my lady… my fat lady.
So me and her we’ve been talking lately. About so many things. These though, like a person with a bad case of acne(gosh… I love simile), they stuck out. And she wanted me to share. So here goes:
The guy that said I should him give him a “trier”. “Don’t you mean trial?” I asked him, especially as he was coming off all smooth and oily and I-know-my-way-around-planet-women on me. Oh she tore him to bits on that one. Then he kept insisting on getting my personal contact information. Contrary to what most men believe about women, and I should speak for myself at this point, my no really is my no. If you know the kind of person I am, you would understand. I kept saying NO but this man… nah… he kept going at it. I’ll bet he thought his persistence would be endearing… make me see him as a go-getter maybe. Boomerang effect. All it did was irritate me. He became a target with a big red “X” marked on his back… and fat lady in my mind, she clicked “destroy”. And he was gone. Not a trace of the greasy man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Then there was the one that called me “beauty queen of the universe”… it was quite laugh worthy really. How does beauty, queen, and universe, even fit in the same sentence? Do llamas tap dance? Are my teeth made of gummy bears? Dude was dripping grease and he knew it! Lying about how he gyms everyday when the only firm part of him I could see was his candy-coated tongue. Please… unlike some women, me, I absolutely abhor unnecessary flattery. Save it for the Barbies. If you’re gonna flatter me, let it be about traits that I actually possess. Use things that I can relate to, then spin your flowery yarns from there. I will smile and get swollen headed right on cue. Don’t be telling me how I’m shaped like an hourglass when you and I both know I’m as slender as a pole. Like, I won’t even fake a smile at that. There is nothing smooVe about cheesy. Not a thing. Fat lady… she is nodding emphatically right now.
Then this guy… who likes to weave himself in and out of my life as though he were a thread. I tolerate him mainly because he makes me laugh(I’m a humour junkie) and he seems to understand how not normal I am. Other than that, mehn, I’d disengage. All that on today, off tomorrow behavior… what am I, a switch? Such a bother. He told me he loved me once(or was it a couple of times? can’t even remember the exact moment and day) but has given me absolutely no reason to believe he wasn’t high(on coffee) when he said it. Which was very funny really because what most people call love isn’t what I call it and in his case, I was right. So the other day, he weaves in. I’m ‘watching’ him the way a deer would watch a hyena. Wary, nostrils flaring, ears twitching, and all. We chat for a bit and then he now proceeds to tell me how having a pillow fight with me will be fun(probably in the spirit of the fun convo we were having). Instantly, an image of Simba and what’s-her-name(his lioness buddy) in The Lion King cartoon, rolling around in a grassy field with the elephants and hippos cheering, pops up.
Annoying mind games(he does that often). It isn’t funny and I don’t laugh. I am not some squishy teddy bear to play with when it tickles your fancy. I am a woman dammit! *in Kevin Hart’s voice*
*Fat lady sighs*
And then the next one. He was a sort of trial thing for me. He had all the aces but for some reason I didn’t quite like him. My friends thought I should loosen up on him though, so I did. One Saturday evening while we were together, his mother called and asked him to send her the phone number of a relative of theirs. She needed it urgently. He sent the number through an SMS and she didn’t get it. He had to re-send it. Guess what? He complained that he had to spend extra money sending the second SMS. As in, he was really pained that he had to spend extra five naira(the cheapest currency there is… almost equivalent to nothing really) sending that SMS. I couldn’t believe it! His own mother! This is no broke fella we are talking about. Well-to-do. Had his own creamy law firm. His own mother? Well, blow me down! Me and the fat lady, we were nauseous. Disgusted we were!
About lunch and dinner outings…
Me, my meal times are always structured. So if I’m gonna be asked out for lunch and dinner(by male and female friends alike) it can’t just be out of the blue. You might be calling in when I just ate. So, should I then sign up for indigestion? No siree! You have to let me know a day or a couple of hours before the set time. So that I can skip a meal in anticipation of yours and we can have a blast. I have a really small tummy and I can’t take too much food(though I’d really love to, foodie that I am), so random and sporadic eating is just not for me. I will gas and be uncomfortable till infinity. If you insist and make me go though, I will just sip water, watch you feast, admire the scenery, and hope that I see a shooting star. Fat lady… she is bellowing right now. Do you hear her?
About wooing and spending money…
*Fat lady grunts loudly*
In my parts, the men(or maybe boys masquerading as men?) actually think they are doing you a favour by taking you out, buying you stuff. It’s unbelievable. Like. They even make jokes about it. I watch them and I shake my head in pity. Personally, though I’m very liberal and chill about every other stuff, I maintain a strict traditional code when it comes to men. You will have to ask me out because I will not assume anything. Do not expect me to “guess”… because even though I might know what it is you’re thinking, I will act blind, deaf, and dumb. As a man, you should be able to make your moves without any prompt. It is such an attractive trait. If you can’t, grow a pair.
Secondly, if you’re just my random male friend, the bill can be split between us(sometimes) and there’s how it’ll get, I’ll even pay the whole damn thing and happily too, because really, buddies we are. You’re like a dude with a vagina, so hey!!! However, if you are in my life with the intention of being more than friends, you had better work for it. If we ever become an item, and I feel like giving you treats(you will even beg me to stop), fantastic! But to get me to be that item? Dude, you gotta put your back into it.
*Fat lady starts to yodel*
Impress me. It’s basic. A man takes a woman out, he pays. Hello? You asked me out not the other way around, remember? It is my confirmed right as a woman, privileges that come by virtue of my soft skin and engaging smile. I’m sorry but it’s just the way it is. You don’t like it? Take your complaints to God and while you’re at it, fill application forms to be female in your next life. You will have to woo me proper. Thoughtful gifts, words, gestures…. the whole works! It’s the way I’m wired. If you don’t, I will discard you the way bad toys are discarded in the factory. I will unlook.
I am very aware, that if and when a man wants a particular woman, he goes the whole nine yards. So my rants above are not unreasonable. I have seen it happen, I am still seeing it happen, I have experienced it even, and so it is true. It is not really about the actual spending or gallantry, but about the willingness to want to do so. The fact that you’re willing to and that you will whether or not it is called for… that… that is the ish. So absence of the above signs just proves I’m just not that important. Ergo, unlooking galore on my part and mega dust off la grosse dame’s shoulders.
Pausing the sharing.
She just let me know she is hungry. Gotta feed her. A book or a song? She hasn’t decided which yet.
I see “White Oleander” sticking out of my book rack… great book. I’ve read it like five times. I pick it up. Fat lady doesn’t object. A book it is then. Fill ‘er up we shall.
This part of me…
My ginger spice…
The fat lady in my mind.
For reading this ramble, danke…
An avalanche of love from me to you and from now till next Wednesday!!!