This one is for the girls who don’t always stop traffic. The ones who walk into a room and all the heads don’t turn. You know, the average, simple, normal, girl next door. That girl we all are when the make-up and heels come off. The simple girl riddled with insecurities, juggling her dreams with both hands, the ones trying to figure life out day after simple, exciting or crazy day.
These are her stories, her own little reality TV show. A glimpse into what it means to be her, a window into her heart and soul.
NOT SO PROUD FOODIE
It wasn’t that I wanted to pretend, but I had just had it hammered into my head so many times when I was little girl that a lady was not supposed to eat too much. So I learnt to keep my deep love for all things edible away from all the guys in my life.
Most people didn’t suspect because I wasn’t fat, but I could consume more food than some guys I knew and I knew they would be shocked, maybe even disgusted if they found out.
Usually, before I went on a date or even had a visitor, I would make myself something to eat or pop by the corner shop around the office and grab a sandwich just so I could endure the small portions that were supposed to be “ladylike.”
I never, ever no matter how much I liked the dish, finished all the food on my plate and heaven forbid I ask for seconds. It just wasn’t done, so I didn’t do it.
I had all this firmly rooted in my subconscious as I prepared for my date with the amazing new guy I had met at my friends’s birthday party the week before. I was surprised he had even noticed me. Guys like him never asked girls like me for their number.
He was Mr tall, dark and handsome, his voice was so deep and smooth that I wanted to just sit down, close my eyes and listen to him talk for hours and hours. Don’t get me wrong, I am pretty but I’m not particularly tall, even in heels. I had pimples that showed no matter how cleverly I tried to apply my concealer and I had been sporting my natural hair in a simple bun the day we met.
For some reason though, he singled me out, we had a great conversation and we set up a Friday night date at a local eatery.
That day was a day like no other. An unexpected last minute change in our brief had everyone at my advertising firm scrambling to make sure we had everything prepared for our pitch to a major client the next morning and I couldn’t leave the office until almost ten minutes before I was to meet Kelechi. Usual sandwich forgotten.
It was amazing, the restaurant was wonderful, the background jazz music had all the stress seeping out of my tense shoulders until I was completely relaxed. Kelechi himself lived up to all the promise, he was funny, attentive and so knowledgeable that the conversation was unforgettable.
And the food, oh the food was so good that I didn’t realise I had eaten even the bones of my grilled fish main course until Kelechi lifted his dish and slid his remaining shrimp onto my empty plate.
I was mortified, I bent my head, a million apologies and explanations for my unladylike conduct running through my mind while I tried to figure out which one would best do the job of buying me time until I could escape from that table.
But, as I finally found the courage to look at his face, I realised he was talking to a waiter he had summoned. He turned to me and with a smile on his face while the young man cleared away the plates he asked,
“So what do you want for desert?”
I stared at him for a long moment before my shocked mind began to understand. I had unwittingly revealed my hidden self to him on the first date and he obviously didn’t care.
I started laughing, I laughed so hard people at other tables turned to look at both of us. Eventually when I could finally get myself under control, I looked right at him, smiled and said,
“Chocolate cake please.”