I’d be a year older in a few days from now and I’d be having a party a few days from then.
I hope to God that the goddess isn’t going to send me on an errand on my special day so I’m getting my ‘Apronquo’ on, trying to impress her by working this weekend.
I’ve still got more tricks up my sleeve that might convince her to let me off on my special day but this would have to do for now.
In case you’re wondering too, new friend met the AfroMuse and they got off well enough to enjoy each others’ company without me.
I’d be beating a hurried ‘over-sabi’ melody on my gong, lobbying for an Afro-holiday, hearing AfroSay:
THE CURSE OF THE BEAUTIFUL
I got home early to rest and I did – beauty sleep.
Two hours later, I stood up.
I got dressed. I was stunning – as usual.
I got there.
People had arrived.
I hooked up with my friends – useless girls.
We all checked each other out before we went into the party, the boys were all too shy to look at me – useless boys.
The party started.
Every useless girl got a useless boy.
I am actually useful.
I wanted me a useless boy, there were two cute ones remaining, though, the idiots preferred to get drunk and dance with themselves than to make a move at the hottest piece of ass in this building. I had given up hope that the alcohol would help their confidence after an hour of watching them clumsily try to get my attention with last year’s moves. It’s just that the drunker they got, the more stupid they looked. I didn’t care if they danced like MC Hammer in 2010, my thumb was hurting from eleven completed games of Brick Breaker on my Blackberry and I wasn’t about to score a dozen.
I was jealous of my friends. They were pretty too but they were attainable. I wanted to be attainable too. The idiots should stop looking at me already and come over to make something happen.
I let another favourite song of mine play to waste. I was mad. I decided that if mountain wasn’t going to come to Moni, Moni might as well go to mountain.
I approached the cuter of the two drunk leftovers and before I could complete my dance invitation, the clumsy idiot busted a spin move and spilled his drink on my dress.
Who the hell did spin moves at a party?
Why the hell was the bastard spinning?
Did he see any other normal human beings spinning to Wande Coal?
All I want is a frigging dance partner, is all! Is that too much to ask for?
I started crying.
He started crying.
His partner started crying.
Everyone else started crying.
I woke up.