They say revenge is best served cold but clearly, Aunty O gives no regard to the temperature at which some dishes are finely served.
I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone that her cheeks and ass are factory fitted but she doesn’t believe me. So, she had me set up.
It should be noted, that Aunty O says it’s all in my head. But the circumstances that led to me being painted in gold paint, hands stuck to my side while standing right under the sun as a life-sized statue is extremely fishy.
And I really don’t blame her. I blame Aunty Claudette for my current predicament.
You see, Aunty Claudette had me convinced that selling the Aunty O story would get me in the limelight.
I don’t know how, considering it’s not my ass and cheek in question. But before I could do anything – not like I cared to stop her the money was mouth watering – Aunty Claudette had dangled the information before many media houses.
Problem is, she told them what information she had while talking prices. And because, of course, they’re smarter, they ran with the story without paying her.
I have promised myself to get a DNA test after this horrible phase of my life. There is no way I am related to Aunty Claudette by blood. I sight her coming now. She’s holding a black nylon bag in one hand and stuffing puff puff in her mouth with the other.
Briefly, I wonder if she was cursed with puff puff/small chops. And I also wonder how my noisy Aunt, looking like a pack of crayons, stumbling across the red carpet, to a real life statuette of me can be more embarrassing to me standing under the sun as a statuette.
She adjusts her top green wrapper and the yellow gele on top of her head. She’s currently dressed in the Igbo attire because according to her; ‘Kulshure must be represented everywhere’. Even on red carpets.
Her eyes dart back and forth as if she’s ensuring she’s not being watched. Then in one quick move, she stuffs an oily puff puff in my mouth.
I spit it back out.
‘Aunty Claudette stop trying to destroy my life’
I am standing here all because of her. And she thinks chewing puff puff while acting like a statue under the sun is what I need.
Tears sting my eyes. Where was I when my mates were picking destiny?
Why was the sperm that was me in such a hurry it had to fertilize my mother’s damn eggs first?
‘Sorry o. Someone offers you food and it is destruction. Ok. If I have left you and touched you anyhow like all these small small children with pancake and no home training…’
I ignore her. Guests for the pre-award ceremony have been touching me, while oohing and aahing in fake accents.
One even said, ‘H-amazing! Warra wonderful collection’
I sight Aunty O coming.
When she moves closer to me and no one is looking, she whispers, ‘nice job’.
‘Aunty O! What’s the meaning of this?’
She smiles, one cheek bigger than the other, making her look like a Mask. ‘This? This is what you get for leaking what you saw to several media outlets.’
She calls outlets like out-lits. Right before flicking her hair like she’s a movie star.
Aunty O and her accent. But that’s the least of my problems now.
‘How long do I have to stand in the sun as a statue?’
I remember hours ago, when she shoved me in a room full of funny looking men and women, saying I was an artist and I was open to standing in the sun, painted and acting as a statuette for the AMVCA pre-award show.
When I tried to talk, she shoved me into a smaller room where so many hands ripped off my clothes and doused me in gold paints, I became too overwhelmed.
Moments later, I am pushed out to stand as a statue. Because of course, I am a ‘volunteer.’
‘At least, no one knows it’s you.’ she chuckles.
I grit my teeth.
That’s the only reason I have been keeping my cool here. Asides from the fact that so many eyes are on me and it’s too late to run in.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to move the statue in for the pre-award ceremony-’
‘Wait, what?’
‘As you already know, this would be broadcast live on all our platforms-’
‘I’m dead!! No!’
Four hands lift me. This time, I fight for what’s left of my dignity.
I hear Aunty O say, ‘It’s all a part of her artistic craft. Pay her no mind. Just take her in.’
I yell, scream, curse, pinch.
My eyes catch Aunty Claudette snoring on a chair somewhere near the entrance.
My life and what is left of my career flashes before my eyes.
The men carrying me take me to the stage, parading me before everyone. I see my crush, my friends and the people that would have been my fans before I blank out…
Blood of Jesus!
Cold sweat trickle down my head as I open my eyes.
I sigh when I realise it was all a dream.
I hurry out of my bed to go and warn Aunty Claudette not to give anyone the full details of the Aunty O gist before we get money.
When I step out, Aunty Claudette is sitting on the legs of a fat man with a stomach bigger than my pillow.
There’s a knock on the door.
I open and see Aunty O, eyes covered with a dark frame.
‘You! You swore not to tell a soul and you did! I’m going to show you who’s King! Carry her!’
Four strong hand grip me.
‘What?! No! I haven’t done anything yet!’
Can a dream not just remain a dream?!
And where the heck is that my ho of an Aunt when you need her?
This post first appeared on TNS.
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