I found out yesterday that Flavour N’abania was in London on the 12th of this month. And I missed it.
(“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you about that,” Hubs chips in. “What? You mean you knew?” I ask. He shrugs. I am suspicioning this man now, honestly).
Can you imagine that? Things like this are always happening to me. I should just change my name to ‘Bad luck’ or something. I am only his number one fan in the whole wide frickin’ world. And I wasn’t there. It’s like the universe is conspiring against me.
But hang on. Maybe it is a good thing I missed it. Do you remember the girl who was photographed without her pants at D’banj’s concert? She was villified in the Nigerian blogsphere for a minute or two. Thinking about it now I can see how the ‘no-pants’ moment could have happened.
I, unlike many others, do not believe that this girl simply showed up knickerless with the hope of engaging in some backstage nooky with the performer. Nor do I believe she pulled them off prior to tossing them on stage either – infact I am willing to go as far as to say that certain parts of her anatomy were covered naturally at the time she got to the venue.
What must have happened is, the music started up, D’banj lit a fuse with his thrusting and gyrating, her mind turned to mush, the heat travelled to her nethers and:
It’s been known to happen.
I’m not saying the same fate would have befallen me but you never know, knickers being what they are. They just aren’t made like they used to (I remember trying to take off my pants as a child and how bloody difficult those Igbo anti-devirginasation pants used to be. Authentic Mama-no-worry pants, made where else but in Aba).
Somebody up there loves me because the last thing I need is to see my womb on the internet without the luxury of a scan.
I guess I’ll just count my blessings for now and wait till the next time.