There was JJ Brisbee, my kind of guy: tall, handsome, sexy and very, very rich. His family has had money for generations and he is the official heir. On top of that JJ has made his own fortune in American media. Word is he is even producing Hollywood movies. In short, JJ na my complete spec (as in he completely meets my specifications), in fact just seeing him does the kind of things to me that no polite woman should admit to in public.
Unfortunately JJ is a ‘love them and leave them’ kind of guy. We had our fling and it was too much! I mean the guy had me chasing him. He introduced me to the jet set high life. We would be partying in London one night and Ibiza the next. I tell you he ruined me for regular guys. Not to talk of in the bedroom, let me not expose myself but the man took it to another level. Chai! The problem though was he wouldn’t stop there, he kept taking it to the next level and the next. Forget ménage à trois, JJ is about full-blown orgies. One day he took me to a swingers’ club! That’s when I ran for dear life. I may be bad, but this one is pass Michael Jackson!
Anyway he was there with one virginal looking biracial girl. I heard they are engaged and that the chick is very conservative. You see yeye men? They want to marry angels and still have someone shagalicious on the side. The foolish boy was winking at me as we made eye contact. Idiot, he gave some other babe a 4 carat rock, but he still wants to rock my own yansh! Utter nonsense! Na me be mugu abi! I gave him an evil look and moved the heck on.
Look at me going on and on about the guys at the gala. Naturally there were also many babes. In fact let me give you the gist. So when I entered the place, the first thing I saw was another red dress, but the babe wearing it was nowhere near as correct as me. The babe was at least 40 pounds overweight and the dress showed more than a few curves if you know what I mean. Plus her blond weave was a little overdue for a touch up. My babes, let me tell you one thing, if you have the audacity to get a blond weave, I am begging you, please invest in a professional touch up at least every now and then. This babe was looking like a complete disgrace, then she turned around and what did I see, she was none other than Tigi Simpson.
Tigi Simpson! This was a babe that used to be super hot about 10 years ago, I mean she was my hero! At the time she could have had her pick of eligible men, but as the story goes, she was busy looking for Mr. Totally Perfect and now look at her, she is still single and looking run down, settling to be the consort of whoever would have her for the night. Judging from the fact that her dress was a Donna Karan from 4 seasons ago, either the class of men or their frequency had diminished.
“Titi! my darling,” she called out to me. I cringed as she walked over, I wasn’t trying to be associated with this aging senior babe, I mean I was still fresh and hot and definitely not broke down. “Hi Tigi,” I said unenthusiastically.
“So we are the babes in red, I trust you to be as hot as me now. I see I taught you well,” she cooed at me, linking her arm through mine as she steered me towards the bar. Heh! See me see trouble O; this woman was indeed crazy, was she comparing herself to me? That is like comparing a 94 Honda, to 2006 C-class. The babe needs to get a grip. Imagine saying that I was as hot as her, doesn’t she know sexiness is like microwave oatmeal, leave it in for too long and it will turn dry, sticky and lumpy.
But I didn’t want to kick a girl when she was down so I said nothing. Nothing about the fact that I am a good 10 years younger and the fact that I will get married and probably be a mother of the cutest little baby by the time I’m her age. Nothing about the fact that her time has come and passed and, guess what, she missed it. Nothing about the fact that instead of trying to get me to buy her a glass of hpnotiq, she needed to be home figuring out her life plan.
Yes O, I’m a nice girl, so I didn’t say anything; I just pulled out my purse to pay for the drinks, hpnotiq for her and a whiskey sour for me. But just when I put my Prada satin bag on the counter, who placed their hand over mine and said “let me,” but JJ himself. “It’s not everyday a man has the honor of being with two sexy ladies in red,” he said, grinning, not even trying to hide the lust in his eyes.
“JJ darling, how are you? I hear you are off the market now,” Tigi said, leaning into a hug and a cheek kiss. If you ask me her hips were a little too close to his and his hand was way down her back, practically on her butt and if I was not mistaken he gave it a little squeeze. Na wa for guys, I beg where is his wife to be, she better come get her man. “Not just yet Tigi, and if you two ladies would do me the honors, I could show you just how available I really am.” He actually licked his lips as he said it. The horror of it all! I took off immediately. Tigi could flirt with him if she wanted to but, like I said, me I had plans of being a Mrs. so I couldn’t fool around and be known as a shameless ho.
I walked away from the bar and ran smack dab into my girls, Mina and Amaka! We all went to college together and had formed a tight friendship ever since. We are all so different but there’s nothing like spending some years in an all-white college in the middle of upstate New York with nothing to do on the weekends than tip cows to bond people together. We had been through so many experiences together, from culture shock to racism. I remember that first winter at Johnston U. It snowed and while the snow was beautiful and new to us African babes, we were completely unprepared for it. That night we were going to a meeting in a nearby dorm, we had of course dressed up as usual. Colorful sweaters (it was a decade ago, ok almost two!) matching accessories and cute shoes. When we started to leave our dorm, people kept looking at us strangely. I looked at Mina in her pink sweater with pink hoops and black leggings with patent leather loafers and you could tell she felt too fine. Maksy looked cute in an oversize orange sweater and black jeans with her new lace-up shoes that she bought from wild pair. And as for me well, let’s just say I looked fly, so I couldn’t understand all the looks we were getting. Finally someone asked us as we approached the door if we didn’t know it had snowed, and weren’t we going to wear boots? We all laughed at the suggestion that we would ever wear those ugly construction worker boots that every one seemed to have. Please, you know how true Naija babes are, be fine or die! My friends let me tell you there is no teacher like experience! After the three of us slipped and slid our way to the dorm no one told us when we went to buy the boots. We learned that when it came to the weather, function must always come before fashion. That was one of the many experiences that bonded us together. We are all so different but these girls are like my sisters.
“Can you believe Yinka would date a guy like that? “Mina said to me, interrupting my trip down memory lane. She was looking at Yinka Davies, an acquaintance of ours.
“A guy like what?” I asked.
“As if you don’t know, my goodness, he used to be the security guard in her building.” Mina looked disdainfully at the couple who were holding hands while making the rounds.
“I thought he owned a security company?” Amaka said.
“Well he does now, but it’s nothing big. Clearly she is going to be the breadwinner in that relationship” Mina said turning away from the couple who had started dancing now.
“They look so happy though” Amaka said.
“I know” I agreed, watching them. Yinka had her head on his shoulder and he had both his hands around her waist.
“Whatever!” Mina interrupted, “let’s see how happy she is when she realizes he is not in her class.”
Mina is such a snob. She’s my friend so I can say it. She has a wonderful heart but she can be so pretentious. She married a fairly wealthy guy, I mean they are not JJ-rich, but you know he is a cardiothoracic surgeon, so he does alright. Meanwhile she stays home and plays the role of a lady who lunches. As far as I can see her main palaver right now is the fact that she hasn’t had a child in 4 years of marriage, and her in-laws are beginning to stress. Other than that, honestly her own is better, I mean her husband is probably the sweetest, most down-to-earth guy I have ever known. Actually, how they got together remains a mystery to me, but c’est la vie. I mean I am not totally knocking her, she is my friend and all but I have to call a cutlass a cutlass, the babe has issues.
She was standing to the side looking down her nose at everyone. Looking like an ice princess in her pewter satin Vera Wang gown, with her hair pulled back into a rather severe chignon. She did look very elegant though, but I guess it’s easy to look elegant when you are a size 2, café au lait complexioned and have naturally wavy auburn hair.
“By the way Titi, what were you doing with that crass woman?” she said, still speaking in the pseudo British accent popular with the stuck-up Naija set, crinkling her nose in disapproval. “Who, Tigi?” I asked “You know she’s not that bad.” I said, suddenly feeling the urge to defend the poor girl. “Well whatever, I wouldn’t be caught dead talking to her,” she said, turning up her nose even further. “Ah Ah, Mina, that’s rather harsh, cool down I beg jo.” I replied a bit impatiently. Even though we were friends, Mina always managed to cause an argument when we were together. Amaka, our other friend, defended me, saying “Mina, how far now, the woman is not stressing you so forget about her please.”
Mina glared at her and Amaka ignored her, turning to me. “Anyway Titi my dear, you are looking hot in that dress.” That was Amaka, always the peacemaker, the woman fit be diplomat. “My dear, I dey try, and you my dear are looking pretty good yourself”. She really was actually. Amaka was forever obsessing about her weight, but she was one of these few women that the extra pounds actually look good on. She was about a size 14, with the kind of velvet chocolate complexion people longed for, and she was wearing the hell out of a bronze gown that she said was a Richard Metzger. Well that’s a designer who definitely knows his way around a curve. I know he does plus sizes but I wonder if he can do anything with a busty size six? “Thanks,” Amaka said, breaking into my reverie, “50% off at the Saks outlet store.” “Haba Amaka, Igbo woman, always looking for the bargain”. “Of course, why not” she smiled. She wasn’t kidding either, She just bought a fixer upper in Grant Park, rehabbed the kitchen and the bathroom herself and the place not only looks like something out of a home magazine but it has appreciated in value by $40k. The babe will make someone a solid wife someday. In fact I don’t know what her problem is, guys are always interested but she is romantic to a fault. I’ve known her for ten years and in all that time I think she has had maybe one real relationship but several flirtations. She can’t seem to get past the sweetheart phase, when you are both infatuated with each other. She keeps dreaming about her prince charming. He has to be tall, handsome and polished, and he has to be Igbo.
Actually the real problem with Amaka is that she is so focused on pleasing everybody, especially her mother. It’s so crazy, here she is thirty years old and her mother still has so much control over her. The woman calls her at all hours of the day, forever demanding to know all sorts of things, like if she is still dieting, has she gotten a pay raise at work, has she found a suitable man to marry. I tell you, she has Amaka going round in circles so that any man she meets not only has to live up to Amaka’s idea of romance, but has to meet her mother’s criteria too. Not only does she have to find a romantic African man but he has to be Igbo as well. My sisters that’s like saying you want a fabulous designer dress for under $50. You may find one, but you’ll have to search long and hard.
Speaking of men, there was one fine brother checking Amaka out right now, and who can blame him, my girl was looking rather hot, the bronze against her velvet skin and her hair down in loose waves. Even I was checking her out! Anyway, the guy was particularly fine and new on the scene; I had never seen him before. He was about 6ft 4 and a cross between Will Smith and Boris Kodjoe, in a good way that is, so at least he met one of Amaka’s criteria. He smiled at us, since we had all turned and checked him out so obviously, and raised his glass. I raised mine back, Amaka looked away and Mina, well, she smirked.
Mina’s husband, Obinna came over and took his protesting wife onto the dance floor. She couldn’t flow with the music because she was obsessing about her Vera Wang, she didn’t want any of “these clumsy oafs to step on her train.” Meanwhile I saw Dele alone and decided to go and corner him. I felt a little guilty about leaving Amaka but I turned around and saw mystery man had sauntered over and was trying to put it on her. Get him girl, get him and if you no want, I fit collect?