The Search for Mr Right (E1 – E12)
E4 - The Search For Mr. Right: Unrepentant Lover
Hi, there. I’m here again. The unrepentant spinster. The stories never end now, do they? I keep harping about how boring and uneventful my life is, but here I am, on a fourth episode. I believe we do have something to talk about after all. Last time, I talked about the boyfriend I lost, Omozuwa Justice. I miss him, but we are going to be mature about this and let bygones be bygones. After all, I did break up with him for absolutely no reason. This time, maybe we’ll talk about the boyfriend I now want. Or maybe not.
I know you’re probably tired of how I manage to make every episode about a man. I am too. I don’t want to be that girl. That girl who has her values and self-worth tied to the man she manages to be in a relationship with. I don’t want to be that girl who constantly obsesses over a Son of Adam. I don’t want to tie my happiness and self-esteem to how fast I can get hitched. Even if I might not exactly feel like it, I want to believe that there is more to Lauretta. A purpose, sort of. It always seemed wrong to me how much time I can give to obsessing over men, and be reluctant to give that much time to anything else, even my work.
Like I’ve mentioned several times before, I’ve always been a shy kid. The least confident among my mother’s children. I didn’t have any talents like my friends who could either draw, sing, or dance. Back in secondary school, I had the worst esteem issues because I was surrounded by perfect children. Children who got the best grades and came from the best families. I didn’t seem to excel at anything. Just an average child. And eventually, woman. Most times, I feel like I’m merely existing, breathing because God willed it. The only part I imagined was going well for me was my looks. My mother never ceased to remind me about how I am her most beautiful child, to the disgust of my sister. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had boys flock around me, wanting to play with me or share their lunches with me. At first, I didn’t understand why I was getting more attention than most girls (told you I wasn’t that smart), but when puberty hit in, I became more aware of myself, my beauty included. I thought this was my superpower. This is the special gift God has granted me.
I used my gift well if I do say so myself. In secondary school, my sister found favor because she was related to me. That’s how deep it ran. But no matter how many compliments I got on my beauty, I had a deep insecurity that there wasn’t really more to me than a fine face. I started getting depressed when I witnessed my friends and even my sister come out on top in all our classes. I saw them represent the school in competitions in and outside Nigeria. Nike even started an advocacy club then. Though we didn’t really know how exactly to define it. All we knew was that she kept advocating for male teachers to be banned from entering the female school hostels. Now, why didn’t I think of that? Nike worked year-round to get the Principal to attend an advocacy meeting. When the Principal finally attended, she had girls from different classes testify about how uncomfortable and violated it made them feel to have male teachers enter the female hostels. We even had graphs and everything and even the male teachers were impressed. Nike’s efforts eventually paid off and the practice was stopped. Female teachers too stopped going to male hostels. It was a revolution and Nike turned to the school’s golden girl. She was just 12. Now, Nike has managed to turn that advocacy club into something so big, I’m even shy to claim I once knew her. Turns out there’s not much you can do with beauty if that’s the only thing you have to offer.
Also, it didn’t help that my mother expected nothing from me. Yes, you read that right. She’s so content in me being a pretty face, which is why she’s counting on me to reel in the best husbands, since that’s all I’m good for. I’m not even mad. I believe it’s all my fault. I never gave her any reason to believe I was capable of more. Nini is still in university, and my father’s brothers are already making plans for her to travel outside the country for her Masters immediately she graduates. All they tell me when they call to check up on me is if I’m being nice at the office because men like nice women. Still, I don’t blame them. I set myself up for this kind of treatment when I decided to study something totally different from what they envisioned for me. As much as I wanted to be known for something outstanding, I knew my limits. Anything that had some methods of science attached to it left me blank. This is why I vehemently refused to study Engineering. I mean, what would I be doing there, except being a total failure? My family did not take this stand lightly, and that was the moment they totally gave up on me having a bright professional future. The next course of action was to get me hitched. Maybe then, I could bring some glory to the family.
Now, I know I have not mentioned this before, but I have a brother. Stanley. He’s my father’s oldest child and my stepbrother. Dad had him with his girlfriend when he was still at the university. Unfortunately, she died during childbirth, making my father a single parent at 23. I always thought about how that was an insanely horrible thing to happen to anyone. Dad rarely spoke of her when he was alive, but when he did, he didn’t last more than fifteen minutes before tears would start to form in his eyes. Apparently, he had loved her so much and they were going to get married. Even his mother had met her and approved. They didn’t expect to get pregnant too. That singular event almost ruined their relationship, seeing as she then had to defer her admission for a year to carry the pregnancy full time. Dad was an only child, so this indiscretion was welcome with open hands. His mother took the girl, Clara, under her arms and cared for her like her own daughter. Everybody was thrown into shock when she was pronounced dead. My dad, for one, never recovered from the shock. He always talked about how stupid death could make you feel. How you could feel so balanced and in control of your fate until death shows up and shows you how wrong you are.
I brought up this story because I always wondered if I would have been born if my father’s girlfriend had not died. Maybe I was not a part of the initial plan, maybe I was a simple adjustment to the original plan. My mother was never supposed to come into the picture had things gone the way they were supposed to. Maybe I would have been born as a guy if my mother had married someone else, or an heiress, at least. Then, I wouldn’t have to worry about working at a job I detested just so I can keep my family fed. Or worry about getting my supervisor’s attention.
It really is so pathetic how much I want him to notice me. In a romantic sense, of course. I’ve grown less confident of the power my beauty has, so I never really depend on it for anything anymore. My beauty didn’t get me any of the things I wanted- purpose, drive, talent, not even the man of my dreams. He looked like the type of man who didn’t care about how beautiful a woman was, or how tight her bun is. If that had been the case, he would have been in my palms a long time ago. He looked like the kind of man that is attracted to women of poise, character, talent, grit, and also economic power. If he had a girlfriend, she would probably be on Forbes 30 under 30 list. I’m not even joking.
The day I knew I might never have a chance with this man was the day he walked in on me and one of my colleagues having a chat. It was past lunchtime, and we really had no business lazing about, I admit that. But why would he respond to a greeting, with an insult. He actually said, “All you do is steal milk and gossip.” in response to our greeting. The nerve of that man! I was hurt, and speechless, but for some reason I haven’t started hating him yet. Call me relentless.
“Lauretta.”
“Hmmm?” I turned to look at my colleague, Grace.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean, what are you doing? Look at water all over your computer!” She screamed in my face.
I looked down at my desk, and behold, my work laptop was drowning in a pool of water that was supposed to be in my flask.
“Jesus. Jesus. Grace, I’m dead. This is Macbook oh.” At this point, I was already hyperventilating. The big office was getting too small for me. “What do I do?!”
“Resign, babe. Resign, because the supervisor will kill you if you don’t.”
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