I’m going to rap.
Yo. Ugh. Ugh. Check me out now. Ugh. Yeah. Yeah. Ugh. I lost track/ Of my brand new cap/ It was all black/ But cos my cheddar stack/ I went and bought another one back. Word.
See, I had cap that I had recently purchased and then almost just as recently lost. A day after I had bought it I was having tea with my lawyer (and simultaneously having tea with a very lovely friend of mine, but I say “tea with my lawyer” because it just sounds more impressive, and I do want to impress you. Deep seated issues, see. Fear of abandonment rooted in a traumatic childhood experience involving an owl, a roll of cellotape and my one-eyed teddy bear called Jicho Maponye.)
After tea I went home and found that I had left the cap at the café. When I returned to the café to ask for it the next day, the waitress was adamant when she said no such object had crossed her sight and that those were entirely mine of simanyi where is my cap. She smiled nicely so I believed her. I am not assuming that she is planning to rock my new cap when she hits her kivulu this weekend.
But my head was now bare, so I thought quite seriously of just going back to the shop and buying a new one. I know. Who does that? Impulse shopping is one thing. Impulse re-shopping is a whole new recipe.
But I was feeling like a rapper. That is to say I was in the state of mind that allows one to be reckless with money so I seriously considered just going back to buy a new one.
Peer pressure was added to the equation and an innocuous “considering” quickly transformed into a fully-fledged “decision”. I was going to buy a new cap. What about. Do I sit here all day to earn feathers and leaves or do I make money?
Now that we have explained the rap, let us go on to discuss things you need to know when you go to Nakumatt Oasis Mall.
1. Go by boda. Don’t worry. Nobody will mind.
2. They check your pockets as you go in and sometimes it’s a dude who does the checking so get your telephones out of your front pocket. Do I need to explain this?
a) Okay. I assume you have two telephones. If you don’t, go to Nakumatt and buy another one. You need one for facebook zero and one for endobbo.
b) Now, the man waves his wand around and when it detects a phone, it beeps.
c) You remove the phone from the area (in this case, front pocket) and he waves wand over area again to ensure that there is nothing left.
Nakumatt guy might… well, um… this happened to a person I knew, not me. Not me… might put his hands there as well as waving the wand… Bad Touch. BAD TOUCH! I don’t want to talk about it any more.
3. If you are going to Mr Price don’t go there in a shirt you bought from Mr Price. It’s kind of weird. Yes. I was going to Mr Price, and I have a shirt I bought there and you do what? Sue me. I’ve got a lawyer.
4. If you are not part of the Java’s Boycott, don’t go to Java’s. If you want to sit down and write the next chapter of The Further Adventures of Chandler and Fraiser because you are planning to have two, not one booklet out and this advert was brought to you by The Audacity Of Self-Publicity ™, don’t go to Java’s. People say whenever you go to Mr Price you bump into people, but if you go to Java’s you bump into people more. Everyone goes there. It’s like the Old Park.
On Sunday I saw Francis Babu there. I must harp on about this. He is not as small as he looks on TV; he is a tall and extravangantly massive man and today, to add insult to expanse, he was wearing a white agbada that was flowing and flapping and billowing over almost half the place. He looked like a cloud: like condensation had taken place in the atmosphere of Java’s. I thought the man was going to rain on us. This message goes out to Mrs Captain Francis Babu. Please burn that agbada. It’s going to be hard to find enough fire, but you have to at least try.