Abuja was a disaster.
I wish I hadn’t gone. Wish I had made a mountain out of a molehill over my ankle injury and stayed back. Then I would have spared myself the heartbreak and embarrassment that followed.
Now, the trip didn’t start out badly, although my ankle was hurting and I was uncomfortable with my short skirt which was bent on exposing my nudity in front of my boss. Don’t get me wrong. I have nursed fantasies of me being nude before him but not like that. Not with the chauffer sitting in front and thinking of me as a slut. You see the problem with people like us who are down the status ladder is that we don’t support each other. The chauffer carried this look on his face like I had thrown myself at the boss. But I had not. The bloody stiletto had.
Anyway, who cared what he thought. My prince charming was worried about me and made us stop by at a pharmacy to have me checked. Turned out the ankle was dislocated. The pharmacist fixed it, massaged it with some balmy ointment and thinking my boss was my boyfriend, taught him how to massage it.
To Continue Reading, Click Here