Photo by Bruno Nascimento on Unsplash. For Young J who stuttered (and still does now and again in moments of overexcitement)… ** Don’t let this be a big thing. Don’t let the tyranny of a lost word hovering just beyond the reach of your tired tongue drag you to the edge of self-immolation. Cherish the bitten lower lip, the lisp when the words - like a pent up flood breaching the edge of a levee - finally come. ...
I woke up to five missed calls on my phone. I had felt, rather than heard its insistent buzz deep within lalaland but sheer tiredness had kept me from waking up. Instead, the phone’s chirpy ringtone somehow ended up blending itself in with the background to some weird dream I promptly forgot on waking. Of the five missed calls, three were from my mother, one from my father’s phone and one from a private number. This has more or less become her standard M.O. - when she feels I am intentionally refusing to answer her phone calls that is. That she’d called five times suggested it was important, so I groaned inwardly, punched in the numbers for my calling card and made the phone call to Nigeria. ...
In that productivity black hole that is the half hour before lunch - where the energy and the gusto from an early start have been steadily eroded by the mundanity of work and the insistent prattle of phone calls, emails and the odd buzz-word infested meeting - I stroll for the umpteenth time into the restroom, almost colliding with a man who is fiddling with the zipper on his fly. I least expect to find someone just inside the door, even though this time of the day is one where the restroom shuffle, coffee room trips and huddles of two and three in the hallway are time honoured strategies for the keen time waster. ...
Dear Lawwd! Matters came to a head today over SpiriChic. Thing is Mother and I have spent the past few months locked in a mental war – losing it is inconceivable for me, because it would constitue such a loss of face that I couldn’t possibly put my foot down on any thing with her in future. SpiriChic, one of two young ladies I ever seriously dated, is a certain un-official ex from a few years ago now, whose existence was leaked by a parroting sibling in a moment of crass indiscretion. Said ex and Mother got to meet and hit if off instantly, which should have raised red flags in my mind at the time. My assumption has always been though, that as long as I hadn’t told the parents anything, whatever mother assumes is just that, an assumption. ...