The front door opened as I stepped out of the lift. Plumes of warmth mushroomed out into the icy landing.
Before I set my suitcases down, my wife slipped out, trailing her puffer coat like a comfort blanket. She smelled of coffee and unwashed armpits. The bags under her eyes were big enough to hold the laptop cradled in her arms. I aimed a kiss at her cheek, missed, grazed my lips on an earring.
“Will you be back tonight?” I asked. The lift pinged, swallowing my question.
Somewhere in the dark of the flat, the baby began to cry.
How to love Igbo things (or what you will). 
Unwashed armpits! Lol
Is this a vague description of yourself when immersed in writing????????
Hahaa! Choba okwu. 😀
mbanu….okwa one love