Hello, I’m that love-phobic drama queen and this is my Valentine story.
Every year, I seem to go through worse Valentine’s Day cases, but this year I hope for something better. Two years ago, I had a secret admirer who revealed himself on Val’s day. Ladies, I know what you might be thinking, things like: ‘That’s so romantic’, ‘That’s kinda creepy’, ‘Was he cute?’, ‘Was he rich?’
Well, he was on the average side, not Boris Kodjoe handsome (Baggage Claim, anyone?); but he had strong, bold features for a man, wide set eyes, long and tapering fingers, well-proportioned pink lips, (lol) okay I admit; he was fine. He was financially stable and had a good job. We had a great date that night, and met a couple of times afterwards. One very cold morning about three weeks later, he sent me a text and asked if we could meet up later that evening and I gave a positive reply. I finished quite late from work that day, can’t remember what I was working on, but I remember it being important enough to make me stay in till 8pm. I deliberately put my phone in the silent mode and when I checked it after I got into the car, he had called 15 times (not exaggerating). While I was driving to the venue of our meeting, which was at Grand Square in Garki, I kept taking shots in the dark, wondering what he wanted to see me for. I mean, technically, we weren’t even dating yet.
Fast-forward to several minutes later, when I had on a stunned look. My Chapman stood forgotten in front of me, as my mental gears grinded this way and that, trying to process what he had asked me. Yes, he asked me a question. The BIG ONE. The one every lady hopes to hear sometime before she hits thirty. Will You Marry Me? I hadn’t seen that coming. Like I said, technically not dating. I really didn’t want to say ‘Yes’, but I couldn’t say ‘No’ either. Somehow, I evaded the question, finished my Chapman and had pity sex with him at his place. I drove home that same night, and the next morning, I texted him, explaining – in as much as 160 text-message characters can contain – why I couldn’t get married to him. We were basically not compatible, we were very different, loved opposite things and had very conflicting dreams and ideas. The sex wasn’t so good and the memories irritated me for months.
My 2013 Val’s day was, as a matter of fact, a very differently-spent Valentine. I met a close friend and we went for a prayer service later that evening. Yeah, I had started to take the things of God seriously, and it was indeed a very good thing for me. After the service, we went out on a double date with her boyfriend and his friend (yeah, I was still single, Poor me). It was an almost perfect evening because I got home and slept so well, and woke up late the next day. My boss wasn’t so happy when I got to work.
And now, it’s 2014 – my year of total turn-around. Well, that was just one of the many captions I gave the year. I moved to Lagos in September last year, a few days to my birthday. And before I forget, let me add that I relocated in the Single Ladies’ crew. My birthday wasn’t really fun; I took myself to Shoprite in Lekki, did my grocery shopping, felt too dull to see a movie, and so I decided to go home.
On my way out, I had my eyes fixed on a young man who wore a maroon anorak with a hood and a black pair of jeans way ahead of me. Well, I could only see his rear view. He had his hands in his pockets, so I had no clue of what he could look like. He finally let one of his hands out and I swear, if I was in a Hollywood movie scene, I would have dropped my bags to the floor, gasped oh-so-dramatically and just swooned (they don’t call me drama queen for nothing). Those phalanges were perfect, light skinned, well trimmed nails, light curly hairs, slim with supple skin (still swooning at the memory). Seconds later, he disappeared into the darkness. (I have no idea if he did disappear for real, could he have been a celestial being? Hmm) A single body feature got my thoughts hazy for days.
I went about my new job and I was enjoying every bit of it. My colleagues were very interesting people with really enterprising spirits. Apart from my success at work, I was making friends pretty fast. (Note: Friends NOT boyfriends) My relationship status was where the shoe pinched. I got unusually a bit worried. My mother didn’t help matters much. She had already started giving me the talk, and had designs on me and a family friend.
“Hell no, mum! (Excuse my French) I’m smart and pretty, hardworking, caring, God-fearing (very) and not to mention my magnified sense of humour. I can attract a good, God-fearing and morally sound man to myself,” I said to her during my visits home. (Okay, maybe not with the French)
“Then maybe you set your standards a bit too high,” she replied with silent reproof.
(Skipping all the long gist) Presently, I’m happily crushing seriously on someone (please don’t laugh) A crush could lead to something serious though, you can’t be so sure. We’re friends now. I won’t disclose how we met and got talking, but be rest assured, he hits all the right notes. Plus he’s earnestly running the heavenly race (isn’t that what matters?). And in our subsequent discussions, I discovered that he was the owner of a car I had almost scratched one day when I visited his work place (never got to meet him then). We were also both present at the Experience 2013 (I never got to see him too).
And – what do you know? – he owns the hand I glimpsed at Shoprite, Lekki. (Now how divine is that!) The very same hand that got me writing different poems for several days, and humming a little Celine Dion here and there.
But the sad part is, he’s in a serious relationship. Oh well, that notwithstanding, I know my 2014 Valentine will be blissful, complete with imaginations of what a wonderful, candle-lit dinner date I’ll have with this crush of mine. And maybe I’ll wake up on February 15 with my mind still intact.
And so, to you, that someone out there who might be reading this – hopefully – you should know that I happily stalk you. And like Jude of 2012, you’re my secret Valentine. Isn’t Fate just deliciously wicked?
Written by Yvonne Alozie, @grey_adanna