I have been living my life like a go-getter and the best thing you can say to me is, ‘I dare you.’
You dare me? No I can’t pretty take it lightly.
I have been eyeing this girl, straight like Kim of the Kardashian, and spotless like my Genevieve’s fish. I’m twenty nine and she is like twenty.
On this day, I go to her and lay my request down again. He don tey you dey carry dis tin around, abeg, giv boy chop.
‘I can do anything for you.’ I say. I don’t beg girls, but I’m begging here.
She waves a strand of hair behind her head and stares at me like she wants to give me a request.
‘Just ask anything, and I will do it.’ I forget to add ‘if it’s in my ability.’
But I’m serious, I need to grab that thing in my hand and let it bounce.
‘Are you sure?’ she asks.
‘Yeah…yeah,’ I’m loosing my confidence here. What if she asks for a private jet? What if she says I buy her a Roll Royce?
‘You see that man,’ she points to a man, and when I nod, she says, ‘go and slap him.’
I want to ask why but that’s not necessary. I have a girl to woo with just one slap. The unfortunate thing is that the man is one of the VIP of the occasion and one slap on his face will bring paparazzi to their feet and to his tail. So bad for him, he has just bought himself a slap, freely delivered.
I grab a glass of drink and gulp the content. I need it.
He is standing some distance from me and I could just run into him and do something silly. If he tries to insult me, I’ll give him the package.
I walk gingerly on the surface, but deep within, my stomach is heating up. My anus is blowing hot air under my pant.
‘No worry chief,’ my old, bald, bearded prey is saying on the phone, a smile plastered on his face and I’m walking to him. That smile will soon disappear.
I am a feet, or two, close. Then an unlucky waiter collides into him. A tray of glass cups falls on the ground. The man drops his head, stares down at his feet and up to his belt, and the whole party waits and stares at him and the waiter, who is now in shock.
I pause. This bastard has ruined everything and I am thinking of punching him.
‘Koosaa saa saaa!!!’ I hear.
It is a gun shot. It’s not a gun shot.
The waiter just gets himself whoop and I’m blinking, blinking like ten times in a second. This tall waiter, muscular and bigger than me, is on the floor with the shattered glass, puzzled and wondering how he is still alive.
The man dusts himself.
‘Sorry…sorry sir!’ I say. And I turn. My party is over. It will be unwise to be walking around here with bad intentions; there are many girls in this world.
‘hey!’ the man calls.
Where did I go wrong?
‘You…’ he says with eyes that are used in horror movies, ‘mind your business…’
Of course, what was I minding before?
‘Sorry sir, yes sir’
As I am about to get out of the door, the girl, filled with laughter, laughing to her teeth that tears reach her eyes, says, ‘fear catch you?’
I smile at her,’no actually. My dead grandparents didn’t want their kids to die.’