The Package

The person who came up with the adage ‘Don’t Judge A Book By Its Cover’ must have had a life changing experience.

It’s often the case with us humans to make an instant judgment about people within the first 5 – 10 minutes of meeting them. We pick up the subtle clues from body language and mannerisms to make an instant decision on what will determine the next phase of the encounter. Books would tell you first impressions are the ones that last the most so you need to put your foot forward at all times and be careful of the vibes you send.

I often find that I make up my mind about people within the first 10 minutes of meeting them. Those who happen to land on my irritated list, tend to work a whole lot harder at convincing me of my error in mislabeling them. If I don’t like you, it would take a message from God to persuade me otherwise.

You would be amazed at the things I could pick up as a reason why I do not like a person. Reasons range from
- Smiled too much
- Didn’t stand straight
- Too strong perfume
- Bad hairdo
- Humorless
- Choice of conversation

So it was just my luck that one cloudy day from work I met this fascinating young gentleman; real interesting, funny, good diction and easy on the eyes. I don’t usually talk to strangers especially on the bus but his introduction into our talk caught me off guard and pricked my curiosity. I was so engrossed in our talk that I missed my busstop. My colleague also in the bus had to call my attention so I wouldn’t miss the next stop. We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up sometime within the week.

Unfortunately for me, I became the office joke and my colleagues gave me grief for a few weeks after that singular action. I didn’t mind it though; I had finally found someone worth my time.

I was on a lucky streak, my impressions were on point. Polite, articulate, gentlemanly, courteous. I was walking on sunshine for a week. I saw beautiful babies, imagined house hunting and decorating (yes o, after just a week). Prayers answered, I danced the funky chicken every night.

Month 2, I got slapped. Bitch slapped.

My perfect gentleman was married. Imagine my surprise. The worst part was that I got bitch slapped by baby mama number 2. Like seriously!!!

Yeah seriously. Don’t know how I missed the signs.

Maybe I was blinded by my picture. My ideal man. The razzmatazz that I didn’t notice things like character and integrity. Or even have a conversation that was meaningful before daydreaming about babies.

The bitch slap hurts till this day cos it’s my reality jolt to look past the façade and discover the hidden potentials that perhaps lies within a short, balding, sweaty, rotund man.

Hidden treasures I’m told to find.

Get Married Or Else ...

Get married or move out.

That was the ultimatum I got from my mummy over the weekend.

I was at a loss for words, really. Not for the obvious reasons of

a. What kind of ultimatum is this?
b. Where is this coming from? Cos I knew the woman had been grudgingly counting the days till I brought home a beau.
c. Where am I supposed to find a man within your allotted deadline?

No.
My total loss of speech came from the ramifications of what her ultimatum meant. I CAN FINALLY MOVE OUT. The word FINALLY kept reechoing in my head. A moment later I was grinning like a Cheshire cat – ‘She don’t know me very well, does she’? (In Bugs Bunny’s voice)

You see, I am stuck living at home just because I am not married. As an unmarried lady I am mandated to live at home which is far from everything and everywhere important (to me). Don’t get me wrong, living at home does have its perks – free room and board, free food, company when you feel like talking – I get to save more but boy do I dream of living by myself which in my case had always been a futile dream. I was filled with joy, even if it was short lived (sob, sob).

She remembered who she was speaking to and took back her words.

I could see the wheels turning in her head as she said ‘I think I spoke too harshly, you don’t need to move out’. She must have recalled that this was her head strong daughter who time without number had proved resourceful in fending for herself financially and otherwise –when she forbade the purchase of a car and land and I went right ahead and bought both anyway or the dreadlocked hair guy I brought home for Christmas just to scare my father (that was funny). I could see her listing the different little ways I have defied parental influence and struck out on my own.

The cajoling started.

In the few moments before my mum’s threat was retracted I had pictured the self contain flat I would live, which would be close to work, with fairly regular power supply and solitude. In my head it was heavenly. And then puff, it was just a dream.

Maybe I will rebel. Someday.

So until some guy comes to pay for me to come live with him, I am stuck living at home. This does not bring me an ounce of joy. Whyyyyyyyy?