As you like it

That awkward moment when the sugar rush from eating milk wafers is lacking after going through the whole mouth pleasing pack.
Torn between fighting the urge to spit out the last bit while checking to make sure the product isn’t expired makes quite an amusing picture.
Eventually the realization that wafers are not a good remedy for eye-blinding hunger comes to mind.

A funny thing happened last week…

February 14 was St. Valentine’s Day.
A day which appears to have been ‘from a summary of past accounts and history’ originally a celebration of love between lovers but now is an occasion to give alms to the poor, visit orphanage homes, go to church, bankrupt selves in the name of impressing a beau, have meaningless sex (possibly after receiving a gift of white handkerchief, singlet and boxers) and/or feel sorry for yourself for not being in a relationship/in love/ involved.
From past accounts and recent times, it seems to be a day when people not only choose to wear red and white looking like members of the Ayelala secret society in Edo state but also generally pair up and have fun with one or a multitude of friends/strangers.
Somehow this definition was lost to me because I ended up spending the fun part of the day being continuously dunked in water and it was not because I was smoking hot.
I was supposed to be a quite observer at a pool party; drink in hand, beau at hand all was well with me until a girl who even I had difficulty keeping eye contact with (she had water filled balloons for boobs that threatened to fall out of their barely there ‘enclosure’ every time she moved) decided to pick up the ice filled champagne bucket, ignore the lot of people wearing swimsuits and boxers and empty the contents on a fully clothed me in the name of ice bucket challenge.

I mean, what the hell was that?!

Shocked and freezing, I scurried off and went to change to dry clothes taking time to towel dry my hair and apply lip-gloss on my kisser.

location: Hôtel Bimyns, Porto Novo.

I barely reached the landing of the party grounds when suddenly I was airborne, twisting my neck in a bid to identify my pilot, the arrival destination came to view: the pool.
Screaming, I tried to explain that I wasn’t dressed to swim/I had just changed out of wet clothes. The final bit of my protest came out as a gurgle as I had been unceremoniously dumped into the pool.
This happened about two more times until it occurred to me that changing out of my wet clothes seemed to be a subliminal invitation.
The highpoint part of this account happened the next day when a young man who spoke in amazement about a guest who had an unbelievably ample behind for her tiny frame was cut short by another man telling him the buttocks was fake, that the lady took them off when she went to use the bathroom. The look of hurt that lined his face at the deception was so sad it was hilarious.

I did not find anything wrong or right with what she did though. It is her body after all and she is allowed to do whatever pleases her with it.

Shout out to NEPA for giving me a few seconds of power to write this.

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Ciao!