“I’m not amused, Charlie.”
Why am I still using that stupid monicker from Two and half men? His. Name. Is. Charles.
I’m charged and I’m furiously pacing the kitchen in annoyance. I really thought I was getting myself across but it is all wasted efforts when the recipient is in another part of the country.
“Charles, aren’t you in Anambra as we speak? Aren’t there beautiful women there and I hear their people are very welcoming.” I say into the phone to put him off my matter.
“Baby, they are beautiful but it’s you I want. Give me a chance again. I promise to make this right.”
Again because he is my ex.
Never again because I never go back to my vomit.
“It is not happening. You and I can never date again.” I hope to God I am spelling this right. My daddy passes by. What is he doing home at this time? I turn the pancakes on the fire. Fifi taught me some tricks and I’m trying things out. “Please, just move on as I have moved on.” I say and my dad enters the kitchen. He gives me a distasteful stare.
“Where have you moved on to?” He asks, silently.
I can’t believe this is my father.
“Dad, I’m on the phone.” I say and gesture.
“Who are you talking to?” Charles asks, silently. “Is someone there? I’m so embarassed. You know what? I am in the office. I will call you back at night.” He promises and disconnects.
My dad is a millitary man. He is in the Airforce. When I was younger, I used to envy him in his white and blue uniform. How smart he looked. How handsome. For a while, I nursed the idea that I was going to marry a man in uniform despite all the negativity surrounding it in Nigeria. My father was and still is an ideal example but I lost interest. Charlie is in the military too and when we first started dating, I thought he loved me like crazy. It was my dad and all the perks that come with him that he loved- and that is surely a lot of perks. The thing is that all these stupid movies and romance novels have made us dumb. We keep settling for people hoping that they are really prince charming dressing as beggars to attract who really loves them when in reality, it is always the opposite. People faking it till they made it. I’m not falling for none of that shit anymore.
My dad is also a drama queen.
“I find it irritating how toughly you present yourself when you are this single. Make me some pancakes too. I am depressed.” Dad says.
Thank God for thick skin.
“Oka-ay.” He shrugs and leaves.
I don’t know why everyone- by everyone, I mean my brother and dad- thinks that being single at 26 with no prospects whatsoever is a death sentence. I can’t even believe my own dear brother thinks so.
I pile two plates high with pancakes. I take mine to my room first before I take his own to him. That is what happens when your own father won’t stop bodyshaming you. I already get body shamed enough. Funny thing about this whole matter is that I don’t even get my size in the plus-size stores. It is quite stressful when you don’t belong anywhere. Nobody counts a size 12 as a plus size where it really matters just when they want to bodyshame us. Issorai.
I’m getting too depressed. I need to move.
I shower, change into something nice, and grab my keys. I’m sure going visiting would help calm my nerves. I drop some books off with a maid for Agnes’ daughter.
I drive off, forgetting my plate of pancakes.