The Boyfriend

I have a boyfriend o!
For all of you who are thinking all kinds of things between the Room-mate and me, I have a boyfriend!
He's French, round with a round tummy and round head. He has this smooth hairless face and silky hair that I love to pull. He's my age so you can't call him my aristo. Or you can if you want if it's based on him being white alone, it's a free world.

So on Friday, we went clubbing (as usual!) and like I said, I don't dance. He, on the other hand, loves to dance... or hop or whatever-the-hell-white-people-do-to-all-types-of-African-music-including-hip-hop and which is absolutely not dancing! He jerks around like a marionette and I absolutely don't like dancing when he does because each time I end up bursting into laughter and then things end up not being funny for either of us because the guy seriously thinks he is dancing!

And it's odd that I shuld laugh since I can't break a move to save my life. I can only wind seductively. But I've got some African blood so dancing even when it is badly done looks better on me than it does on him.

So there he was doing his 'I am possessed' routine and this akuna comes from nowhere n starts to get into his groove. Next thing she's rubbing her breasts all over his chest and then her friend apparates n starts to do the same to his back.
All this while, I was watching the band. The lead-singer was not only singing but was actually dancing. And I was thinking, now there's someone who can do it.
Suddenly, I felt someone rush at me, tug me off my seat and then plops into it jamming me on top of his knees. He looked towards where the girls were still standing looking stunned, pointed fiercly at me and mouthed slowly so that they could understand each word over the noise, ' MY. GIRL. FRIEND!'

Not understanding what was going on, I smiled at the girls inanely n tried a weak wave. One of the girls smiled back, while the other hissed and walked off.

For the rest of the evening I remained perched on two very uncomfortable legs. The boyfriend had his arms wrapped tightly round me for protection so I couldn't move. I ended up wiggling so much that a third leg popped up and that was when we decided to call it a night.

Goodnight.
Have a good week.

Rule #21

Hung out wit the guys yday nite. Went club hopping, had a few drinks, some laffs and managed to move a little.

Diva Rules for Clubbing #7:Divas neva buy or get their own drinks.

All the guys were falling over themselves, as usual, to get me drinks.
'What would you like, Trésor?' 'Some more red wine,Trésor?'

Diva Rules for Clubbing #6: Divas don't drink beer (crassy!), malt drinks (poison!), sugary alcoholic drinks- so-called chick drinks (now seriously, drinking sugary alcoholic drinks and beer increase your chances of 'catching' a yeast infection and Divas don't do thrush or any other stinky disease for that matter!) or energy drinks (Divas already got lots of energy, don't need extra. Anyway, don't do much at clubs that requires energy. Seriously.)
Divas drink only wine- preferably red wine. Divas especially do not do any of those funny watery sugary fruit drinks which are passed off as wine just because they come in a wine bottle. Give a Diva some good old French wine any day, any time (literally speaking!).

Diva Rules for Clubbing #9: Divas don't drink, they sip.
So even though I had a bottle of wine to myself and a million offers to get me another one, I barely finished a glass.

I didn't dance much.
Diva Rules for Clubbing #5: Divas don't dance, they move.

You know that girl in Cardinal Offishal's video ft. Akon, Dangeruos? That was me. Okay, that was not me but she looks just like me especially in that tight black dress. And the way she walked, now that's what's called moving. When Divas move, they step aside to let us thru!
I slided up and down the boyfriend's body once or twice and that was it. Most times, I just sat in my seat, sipping my wine and watching others get crazy on the dance floor.

There was this one girl that danced so hard her wig came off. Obviously, she's not a Diva.
I don't do wigs. They pose very high chances of bringing on an embarrassing situation; especially, if what's underneath it looks like something you would find on the head of a street person in the early stages of poor mental health (a mad person for short!).
I almost choked on my wine when the wig came off and the funniest thing was that it flew across the room and landed in some obscure spot under a table. By the time she got it back, it had been trampled on by many unknowing feet. And the stupid raz chick! First she pretended to laff it off and then she tried to put the scraggly looking thing back on her head!
I don't know which was worse- the thought of her putting the raggedy wig back on her head or of exposing us to her Willy-Willy hair-do for the rest of the night. I would have really loved for her to cover up the frightening-looking, nausea-inducing weave on her head but at the same time, any sensible person could see that the wig was gone. It wasn't even hot-looking to start with and after being trampled...
Lordy! Some girls will neva be Divas. (sigh!)

I got home at about 2 am and at around 5 am, I woke up wit the worst case of runny tummy eva. I almost died.
It must have been that rotten Nkwobi I took at that local waterside joint where we stopped off in the middle of club-hopping.
Warning to self: Never eat greasy-yellowy-gruely-meaty-savoury thingy that is reputed to contain goat-brain!!! (Yuck!!! I only just found that out!! The Diva does not do brains ?!!!)

Luckily, the Room-mate (flat-mate) and I have separate bathrooms.
Oh, the explosive sounds - pata-pata-pata- like a backfiring motorcycle. And then, the stench! I almost blacked out on the job!!

But I survived. Had to air my room after that but that was after I had sprayed like a can of air-freshner in there.
Finshed off the rest of the sleep in the sitting-room.

Note-to-self: Need to revise my rule-book.

Diva Rules for Clubbing #21: No more beer-parlor delicacies for me, ever!