The color of her lips reminds me of tomato paste. The colour made her face scream ‘I need attention’. This tomato coloured lips attendant was rude but I was too hungry to confront her, stealthily I carried the food to a table opposite the door.
There, a chilled Fanta idling itself on my tray beckoned on me to drown myself in its sweetness. Raising my head, my eyes caught a man ; this is the moment I give God all the glory for making my gaze be at the right place and right time. It was almost how I imagined it. He was tall with well sculptured shoulders . That is, an iota of his enormous physical qualities. His spotless oval face made me wonder if he used Mary Kay foundation. Then, he killed it with a pointed nose like those Indians I saw the other day. I could have sworn I spotted dimples, that will make him perfect right?
If God spent five minutes in making every other person he spent an extra five on my ‘Mr. Everything’. I could feel my chocolate face burning. My cheek bones were in labour due to excessive smile.
He cannot be real. This is a dream . I hit the spoon on the table to confirm if I were in real life or delusional. It was real. Every organ in my body rejoiced at the realization of this. He walked pass my table and I could smell all the Lavender and rose mentioned in romance novels.
‘I have to be composed’. He might notice the composed me. I was tempted to steal a glance but I could not. I cannot risk having eye contact with him. I will melt faster than a lit candle.
The wall clock above the fridge brought to my remembrance my chemistry class. ‘Do I still need education at this point in my life?’ It will take more than Mr. Perfect to stop me from attending the class. I will not hear the end of it from Prof. Baduru my chemistry lecturer who happens to be my uncle.
If he is meant for me, we will cross paths again. Sadly, I had to leave. I was wearing a white body con that acknowledged the little female endowment I could boast of. If he was looking at my direction, he will notice the skinny girl who almost had curves.
Just outside the restaurant, I hear a male voice;
‘Hey, excuse me’
Never, it cannot be Mr. Perfect. He cannot. I was freaking out at this point.
‘You are stained’ Mr. Perfect broke it to me. Those three words he said made me wonder if humans could break the wind through their mouth. The odour that oozed from his mouth almost made me sneeze.
‘Sorry, I am what?’ I asked
‘I said you are stained, your dress’ he replied
Oh! My monthly visitor had creeped in unannounced. I was going to utter thank you but I really tried bringing my face to formation but my countenance betrayed me and my mouth refused to corporate. I could not think about anything because my brain had been polluted. The next thing, I saw myself walking so fast one would think I was running.
I finally came back to my senses after I had cleaned up in the hostel. I was late after all, lost in deep thoughts on my way to class it hit me. Mr. Perfect probably thought I walked out because I was embarrassed. ‘Mr. Perfect’ listen, no I was not embarrassed. Okay, that is a lie. I was supposed to be embarrassed because of the stain but the shame I felt were for your breath. The odour from your mouth was the reason I was embarrassed. How can you be so imperfectly perfect? I was not embarrassed because I unintentionally made my period public but because all my life, I have been wrong about the definition of air pollution until you spoke to me.
Photo credit: WallpaperHD