I'm too much of a snob to schtoop a ruffian

There seems to be some confusion about who I am, and what it is that I do, so I shall clear it up. I blog because at some point in my life, I didn't know what to do. I'd always been a little bit of a dog. Papa Afam would say do well in school, and I would try. Papa Afam would say try harder, and I'd try harder. I was always inconsistent, unsteady, but every time Papa afar said do, it was a jolt to my system. When I was 16, one of Papa Afam's friends asked me what I wanted to do, and I didn't know. I was fine doing anything, as long as Papa Afam was proud. If Papa Afam had declared that I was to be a doctor, I would have done physics and biology and chemistry, but, Papa Afam wanted an accountant who was also an entrepreneur and that's what I strived to be. When I was in second year, I realised that I liked Economics, but I liked it the way I liked a nice book. It was very informative, but after everything I longed to be able to put it down. I was lost then, and while I was lost, I thought that it would be worth it to document my lostness, that way, my struggle wouldn't be internal. If I shared it, it would be real. If I shared it, it wouldn't be silly or ungrateful.

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.

The End,

Happy Days,
Afam