Why Men are Never Tired.

Simply because they don’t do anything much.

What, were you expecting something more complicated and analytic? Because there isn't any need. Sure you are wondering what brought about this? Take a guess, even though you should have an inkling by now.

But before we go into that, let me give a very hot gist on what brought about this in the first place.

Recently, I ran into a very old flame friend, who used to be so hot on my case years back.

Oh Yesss! That's him. (Fine, not him but soooo close)

He was so excited to see me and was happily gushing about how finer I have become and how lucky my Hubby was (you hear that, hon? You are a very lucky guy). While he was singing so many effusive praises about my looks and how I would have put Elizabeth Taylor to shame (fine he didn’t say that), I kept brushing all his praises off shyly yet coyly while telling him to take it easy joor. But in my mind mehn, I was like “keep at it, oh yeah, talk about my looks, yes, I am still hot! And you are seeing what you missed eh?

One of our living fantasies as women is to eat and never get fat, have Adenuga, Otedola & Dangote hold a duel among themselves on who will spend the most millions on us, run into an old flame or old friend we used to find attractive ONLY when we are looking extremely smashing so we can have him look with wonder on how exquisite we have turned and probably commit suicide when he gets home having wondered dejectedly on how he missed out on such a good deal.

*sighs* some fantasy, huh? It’s common knowledge we all have this misplaced concept that all our Exes’ lives are miserable because we are not in it. I once ran into an ex on a very early Saturday morning around his estate but despite the obvious signs that he just got out of bed, I was convinced he looked that way because I was no longer in his life.

Yup, that’s what we all think. All the time. If they can’t have us, they can never be happy.

“You look so good babes, are you sure you are really married”? He asked with a look of disbelief.

“Yes, I am, to a very domestically challenged partner”. (Fine, I didn’t say the last part but I definitely thought about it which brought a glare and scowl to my face).

After this, he went ahead to mention how horrible his marriage was and how he is still married to his wife because of Gbadeyanka Orimolade Smith, his son (Those are not the son’s name but I can’t seem to remember the name and it’s the least of the reasons for this heart rendition so let’s not fight that, ok?)

I was quite disappointed in that statement as I have little no regard for men that belittle their spouses in the presence of another hot chic (yes, me). And aside that, this guy used to be one of the hottest things to walk on two feet during our time(days of Methuselah) and had several girlfriends at once to prove that, which was the reason I chose not to date him even though I lusted from afar. I was smart enough to recognize a dangerous alliance when I saw one. (Before someone will bring home STD and damage my reproductive organs)

I was already angry and disgusted as he mentioned many reasons he could never remain faithful to her and how he intended to separate from her after some few years and I decided to ask the main reason for wanting this divorce. He responded in one sentence.

‘Sex with her is already boring and the excitement is not there again and most times when I want it, she is not ready and always saying she is tired.”

Suddenly out of nowhere, I watched my hand moved swiftly with sleekness as I gave him a backhanded flip, threw him to the ground with the collar of his shirt, pressed my 8-inches heels harder to the nape of his neck and used my other foot to twist his neck to face me and asked him in a quietly deadly voice, “What did you just say?”.

I actually looked hotter in my mind's eyes

You see, when it comes to women, especially married ones, I am extremely defensive and sensitive as I believe many are not appreciated by their spouses and having this old friend say such got me furious as I brought out the pen knife I always carried for safety from my poc.....

His voice jolted me back into reality when he said “are you here at all and did you hear what I just said?” It was that question that brought me back to reality and made me know disappointingly that I was simply fantasizing. But his next questions made sure I wasn't.

“I hope you are available to your husband all the time as we men want this attention and loving at all times”.

“Shey ori e o yii?” (I fantasized the question in a very thick Yoruba voice as I looked at him in a disgusted manner)

Shey o ya were?

Funny he should ask that question because while I was staring at him wondering whether I could get away with some swift Jackie Chan moves on his cheeks, I pondered that question and thought back to sometime this week regarding as usual, the Hubby in question.

I am married to a food lover. But not just any kind of food though. I mean not food like rice, yam, spaghetti, Kote, Titus, beef or chicken stew.

Nah. Not those kind of poor man food. I am talking about meals that are worthy to be served to the gods.

Hubby does not like meals you can quickly prepare and leave the kitchen under 30mins. Lai lai, when the Olori Ebi of my life decides to eat, it’s with the paraphernalia of a King deciding which wife not to behead and which is to be spared based on her cooking skills.

With Hubby, if you don’t spend an hour and thirty in the kitchen slaving off for his esophagus, you have not done your duties as a wife. And of recent, he discovered after confirming from my mum that he actually paid for my Sadaki, which is a dowry for a Muslim bride from her husband.

That new knowledge sealed it. And armed with that piece of information, it became an object of oppression. Any task requested from me and I dare hesitate or say “I’m coming dear”, he unleashes sharp sharp, “I have paid your Sadaki o so I own you o, coupled with the 42tubers of yam you collected so come and do this thing now joor”.

*sighs*. If only that was all.

I once read about this sauce from a food magazine where you dice all the ingredients and stir fry with all forms of assorted beef/sausage/meat/gizzard/shrimps and in a bid to further impress him and convince him he married well, I carried my one head, two legs, naïve common sense and lovingly cooked it for Hubby to see whether he’d like it. I even cooked Basmati rice and designed it on the plate the way they do in all these exquisite restaurants.

That was the silliest move I could ever have made as a woman that claims to love to cook. Because after tasting that sauce, Hubby decided that was the only sauce that can pave way for a successful marriage.

And because he wanted to eat it 3 times a day and I had to cook enough to last 1 week which is 7 days but must cater for 21 meal times, I spent nothing less than 2 hours after dicing the habanero, tomatoes, green pepper, gizzard, the very teary onions, and not forgetting to use little oil as he doesn't like it oily. This task was done on a Wednesday evening after coming from work around 6:30pm. I was able to round off around 9:00pm.

On Thursday evening (which was the very next day, as in less than 24 hours later, Olori Ebi was at it again), I got home few minutes before 7pm totally fatigued from the very busy day work and was more glad to see Hubby’s car in the car park and excitedly walked into the house. There are just those moments when I am usually glad he was the one I got married to due to the excitement I get knowing he is so close. A peep into the kitchen saw that he had brought out the stressful sauce I had made the night earlier which meant he wanted me to prepare something for him to eat the sauce with or prepare something for him to take to work with the sauce.

None of it mattered though. I was on heat in a very loving mood and would have prepared sushi marinated in a complicated kind of sauce for him. So as I bounded up the stairs, I was already calling his name affectionately. And as I opened the door to the room, I found his adorable self, sprawled on the slightly tussled bed (which he didn't arrange before leaving for work) and watching the addictive series, “Dominion” on his tab. I looked at him lovingly as he turned to ask how my day was and I took it as a cue to whine about the stress of everyday work and how much I had missed him.

His next words wiped all affectionate glances/thoughts/emotions from my mind.

“Mehn, I’m so hungry. I feel like eating beans o.”

Yes, I was literally puffing with anger smoke in my ears and nose.

The time was 7:15pm because I checked as soon as he finished uttering that abomination while I wondered whether this guy was on “Dongoyaro”. In fact, after he uttered that sentence, I started laughing hysterically while he had a confused expression on his face wondering what part of his statement was funny.

“Sweety, who requests for beans at 7:15pm on a work night?” I asked exasperatedly.

“Why, are you just going to pick it”? (He actually said this part in Yoruba as if the only problem with that request was if I was just going to pick it). And even if I was, he already had a solution. He advised that I put the beans in the bowl and add water, and that whichever ones float to the top are the dirt so I can throw those ones away and cook the rest.

A hungry man is definitely an ingenious one.

Omo, I cooked that beans that night o. In fact, I not only cooked the beans, I even made the breakfast for him to take to work the next day. And any grumble from me, he is quick to remind me that he paid both the Muslim dowry, “Sadaki” and the “42 tubers of Yam” which I have not even done any satisfactory job for 1 tuber of yam not to talk of 42.

And while I was cooking, I was also going upstairs to prepare for work the next day and for every time I enter the room tired and almost sleep walking, Hubby would turn around from the bed, smile at me sheepishly with a come hither look while gesturing with his eyes and head “come here”.

Yeah this was how he thought he looked 

But sincerely this was what I saw in that tired state.

No wonder I didn't trip.

Wait a minute, is this guy leering at me? I am slaving away in the kitchen and he dares to leer with a wolfish grin? So with all I am doing, he wants me to quickly make out time for a prayer session? Suffice to say the term “wife” was thoroughly practiced that night.

As I turned to my promiscuous married friend who was still looking at me waiting to hear me say “haba I am different o” and maybe expected me to go ahead to say "I understand your need to be promiscous", I simply thought to these past days and told him,”shebi all you do is to sleep, bring money home, wake up, request for food, have various multiple partners, how won’t you ever still want excitement?” “Why don’t you turn the tables and cater for wifey while she also experiments outside and let’s see whether she will still find you attractive, ehn”?

And because he belongs to that tribe where it is even a taboo for the woman to have other admirers, he waved me aside by saying “that is not the point my dear”. And I interrupted him fast as infidelity has a way of raising my hackles since it is usually double standard, “That is the point. You complain of lack of excitement at home because you have options outside. Because you can only say there is no excitement as compared to… So when you mention to your poor wife that she is boring in bed, if she is a smart woman, her question should be” as compared to what or who”? If you want excitement which you are not willing to teach her, let your wife also experiment with other men so she can bring in new ideas from outside and who knows maybe even teach you one or two new moves”. I finished with a very bland expression on my face while he looked at me with annoyance as I was not saying what he wanted to hear or maybe have me empathize with him by battling my lashes at him. I’m sure at that point, he would be happy I was not the wife he married sef.

To think I once crushed on the n**a.

Suffice to say, I was enormously glad when I entered my car and drove away while thanking God I never had anything to do with him. I didn't even bother to save his number.

I glared when I saw Hubby’s incoming call. He wanted to know what he was having for dinner and if he could have the sauce with Irish potato, which we don’t have at home so I had to buy somehow after work.

Men & food sha.