*uncorks chilled bottle of
beer*
You
know the saying that goes “..when the person that has your mumu button locates
you, its all over for you..”? Yeah, that’s some annoyingly true sh*t right
there. Dating le Boo is
one of the best things that has ever happened to me. (Ok that’s after sliced
bread). Anyways the point is that I was so head over heels in that annoying
L-word, so for the sake of my reputation (player), I’m going to skip out a lot
and focus on one fateful Saturday.
Le Boo had
been down with malaria for some time and it got so serious that I had to take her home. On getting back to my house, I did my laundry and remembered
that she had a pile of laundry left unwashed due to her critical condition. I
wrapped up my Saturday chores and headed over to her place to help her with
them. I had activated my “pamper” button so I did not want her to return
after her serious malaria, only to be burdened with washing. I packed them all
and headed for the dry-cleaner’s. On getting there, the guy was not around so I
had to take them home to wash myself. *sips beer*.
So
as I was saying, I had made up my mind to wash them. I then got a bar of soap
from her cupboard of toiletries and set to the task. In her room of-course.
There was something on my mind which kept bothering me, but I could not place a
finger on it. It kept hitting my subconscious for some time. Halfway into
the task, it struck me.
Washing
the clothes was no problem at all….It was hanging them out to
dry (feminine garments) …in the open…in the full glare of neighbors that
was made up of tatafo people who knew me as a frequent visitor…way too
frequent. At this point, I would like to explicitly specify that I did not wash
pant, or bra. I swear, all I handled was tops, skirts, pants (trousers),
camisoles and one bum short.
*refills beer glass*
So,
as I was saying, I was in a dilemma. After washing the clothes, or garments if
you’d like, hanging them out to dry became a problem because I did not intend to
get tagged with names like woman wrapper, pussy nigger, pussy ass nigger, mumu
guy. So I rinsed them, packed them in a bucket then sat down
*sips
beer*.
At
this point, I started to brainstorm on how to go about this herculean task of
taking them downstairs to dry. *belch* excuse me.
A
couple of ideas crossed my mind. One of them was throwing them at pinpoint
accuracy from the second floor to land on the line. And hope no one sees
me in the process. Impossible.
Another
idea was to do it Clark Kent style, at super speed in a split second, so that
all anyone would have seen was only a blur of brown body and a magical
appearance of clothes on the line. Impossible too.
I
then thought of setting off the fire alarm so everyone would assemble at the
muster points towards the front of the building. Then I could quickly do “the
deed”. Too risky.
After
10 minutes of hard thinking, I came up with a plan. Technically, it was genius.
All I had to do was wait till nightfall….pitch black darkness and do it. That
way, anyone who saw me would neither recognize me nor the type of clothes I
would be hanging out on the clothesline. I smiled to myself and went about
fixing a late lunch. After preparing the food, I settled down to dine with a
movie on le boo‘s laptop. Don John. Great movie. By the time the
hands of the clock hit 8 pm, it was dark enough outside but there were two
strategically positioned, 100W energy saving bulbs at the backyard. The glow of
the bulbs flooded and lit up the backyard like a stadium. Even a blind person
would see me with lights that bright. PHCN usually did their thing by 9 pm so I
was forced to wait one more hour. As luck would have it, by 8:56 pm, the whole
district was plunged into darkness, with the only lights coming from moving
headlights out front and a telecomms mast a couple hundred feet away. This was
my chance! I swung into action, snatching the bucket of wet clothes, I
unlatched the door and sprinted down the hallway towards the staircase. I was neither
wearing footwear, nor a shirt. In the process I knocked over the her neighbor’s
kerosene lamp and banged my left foot against a cupboard. Sizzling pain shot
through my left pinky toe, but I refused to let it deter me from my
mission. I gritted my teeth and covered the remaining distance to the top
of the staircase. Using months of experience, I bounded down the steps in the
dark, taking them two at a time in fluid athletic motions. On getting to the
first floor, I heard voices from below coming closer really fast! I stopped
dead in my tracks and quickly dropped the bucket. I whipped out my cellphone
and walked away from the bucket, disowning it in the process. They climbed up
with their flash lights and one of them paused at the bucket for a split second,
probably wondering what it was doing there. They murmured greetings to me as
they passed and I hoped to heavens that they did not notice my wet hands. As
soon they rounded the corner, I snatched the bucket and cleared the remaining
steps and ran to the backyard. I slipped out and pressed myself against the
hostel wall. I listened hard for anyone around, frantically scanning the yard
with my eyes. At this point, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The cold air
bit into my chest but I couldn’t care less. I was like a 007 agent, a man on a
mission. On pronouncing the yard clear, I hurried to the clothesline and in
less than twenty seconds, I had spread fifteen of the clothes, working
like a robot. I reached for the last of the clothes..
“My
brother, how you dey?” Came a voice from behind. With reflexes as sharp as a
cat, I let go of the tank top and spun around to face a middle aged woman. How
did she come up from behind so noiselessly? I thought to myself.
“Madam
good evening” I responded, holding my breath. I could feel the cold sweat
starting to form on my back. I banked on the fact that since it was dark, she
would not recognize me. I was wrong. “How our wife?” She asked, referring to le boo. My throat went dry. I swallowed hard before
attempting to speak.
“She
dey fine.” I managed to croak out of my parched throat. She then went about her
business, leaving me alone. I was wrong again on thinking I was alone. As my
pupils fully dilated, I started making out the silhouettes of two girls sitting
against the wall, just a few feet from me. I was forced to greet them. I was
pretty sure my cover was not blown with them because of the distance between
us. I continued spreading out what was left, doing it haphazardly, without
bothering to squeeze out the water. I felt triumphant when I reduced the pile
to just one. As I bent to get the bumshot, I heard the unmistakable whine of
the hostel backup power generator as it spurred to life. I turned to a pillar
of salt. I had totally forgotten about the backup gen programmed to
automatically turn on after sixty seconds. Shit! In the next split seconds I
contemplated dashing back inside, out of sight, or quickly throwing the
bumshots on the line and sprint inside. I chose the latter. After-all they had
no I idea who I was. As I poised to hoist it over the line, the bloody
generator groaned and released all 220Volts and 20KVA of of electricity to the
damned hostel. The energy savers came on, perfectly illuminating the yard….with
the girls and woman in it…with me in it…bare chested….barefooted….holding up a
wet and really skimpy bumshot….up in the air….like a trophy. I’ll stop there.
I
never told le boo the story and she is currently vexed with me for
not visiting her in her hostel for the past six months.
Please
I need your advice. What do I do? Help a brother out.
Written by
Amerigo Bonasera
Labels: Guest post, Rants and Bants
