You start being “realistic.” Failure becomes easier to accept. Instead of feeling like God let you down, you just admit you “no read” enough. That, maybe the other person was simply better.
But so-so-so and so still dey happen! And I couldn’t explain it. Was this God? Was this Him answering that mad prayer?
Issa lie! I doubted it!
But promise na promise. I might actually have to do this one-year thing.
F**k it all.
A whole one year of no sex. My favourite hobby. Especially now that I was perfecting some new strokes I planned to take mainstream. F**k!
I no know who send me go church.
I bought a thicker duvet. Nights were getting colder.
Fast forward 3 months. 3 whole months of celibacy.
One day, my friend the plug called me.
“You’re coming out tonight! My friend is in town, we have to show her a good time.
”I said OK.
“You sound sick, what’s wrong?”
I said I’m fine.
“She’s with you abi? Tell her you’re going out tonight!” click
I got up from bed. Tissue everywhere. Room a mess. No reason to clean up.
Checked wardrobe—nothing nice.
Celibacy had bent my back. Afro wild. Face full of hair. Managed to book my barber. Got a cut. Picked up a shirt.
