The Ressurection

So I know that I've become one of the quintessential bloggers who forgets all about their blog but no be like that na...lol.You see, what had happened was, my love and I were separated for a while wn, but I am back now and shall try to be in full effect *dancing to Bobby Brown's every little step I take*


As I've tried to get back into the Lagos groove, I've decided that one of the best things about being able to say i"m gidi-grown is because I had a great many, very fantastic and inherently "Lagos" experiences in my childhood and that's one of the reasons i'm so fly (you know its true).

For example, I went to one of those primary schools in Lagos that most people know. I never understand the relevance of the question as you are now grown-up people at a grown-up social function, drinking Hennessy on someone else's tab, air kissing and pretending to not notice people you went to school with (don't front like you don't do it) and it always seems to crop up "what school did you go to?" Its like a multiple-choice exam and there are about 5 acceptable answers with and option of "none of the above."

Anyways, I went to one of those schools and I remember having my 6th birthday "party" and there's nothing better than being able to show up to class with a huge Barbie Birthday cake (life size barbie included)and rub it in everyone's face that you're the HBIC and they better not cross you if they want a piece.

SN: Let me explain how excited that cake made me, it made me do dances that you couldn't get me to do now even after 3 shots of tequila and a wine chaser, so...yeah, i was mad excited. 

So, my cake and I were dropped off at school with specific instructions to bring back a certain amount of it and the day went as expected, readin, writin, being held up my kids from a different class talking about they need a cake hook-up...regular stuff. Time came to cut the cake, people sang, clapped and then the absolute smallest pieces of cake are shared to my classmates and just as my brain is like "this does not compute" (and I swear it happened exactly like this and in slow motion), my teacher hacked off half of my remaining cake, wrapped it in foil and put it in her purse then looked me dead in my face like "and what are you going to do about it". As i was metaphorically taking off my earrings and getting out my vaseline, this woman took my barbie doll, licked the icing and cake of her legs and put my doll in the same purse,she was definitely looking to catch a fade...( I was 6, what powers did i have besides to cry uncontrollably and incessantly ask the question "but why?")

What's the point of this story? I'm glad you asked...

There are people all over this great city who pull stunts everyday only supported by the very revered notion of "yeah, i did it, what are you going to do about it?" From self-appointed managers to the security guards at the bank that stress you into leaving your silver pen at the door but let you hold your colt .45 above your head as the metal detector won't "notice". It seems like everyone is just waiting to hold their authority over you and make you say "uncle" and it is one of the most singe-handedly frustrating things anyone has to deal with.

I have no solutions to this problem,besides common courtesy and collective human respect(let's be real,that's not going to happen) ; I will say this, I hope that my old teacher is still teaching when I have kids and they start school because...that b*tch owes me a Barbie.