Big guy: Hey bro. Where are you from?
Me: Nigeria. You?
Me: Not sure but definitely Polynesian
BG: Samoa. What’s your name?
Me: A-Y. Yours?
BG: Do you play rugby?
BG: Why not?
Me: I am too small (he’s probably 6 5” with the rock solid “Polynesian build”)
BG: What are you reading? (He opens the book). I had my hand between the pages.
Brief pause. Uncomfortable silence
BG: Oh. Sorry I didn’t notice the hand.
Me: No probs at all
BG: What happened?
Me: That’s how I was born. Congenital.
BG: Ok. What do you drink?
BG: Well have a beer and a shot on me!
On the edge
Why do I teeter on the edge of fatness
It is the food I eat
Threatening to build a band around my waist
Can I keep the cholesterol at bay
When the sugar, the Suya and the Cola conspire to dissolve my resolve
Lo and behold
I have tried to bend my mouth to my will
But success is as fleeting
As the Coldstone ice*
The niece suggest I tried
Who will save me from my folly
The second musketeer says to try the beer for it is the drink of the gods
But confusion galore abounds
For isn’t it the belly of beer
That prompted the guard at the door
To inquire who the pregnant party was
When a friend and his love
Burst upon the shores of liberty
The land of the brave
Who trust in nothing but God?
The third musketeer of smaller girth
Abhors the beer
Instead supping on stronger fare
Is it 10 or 20 or 30 or 40 percent
Nothing less will do
But the liver has a finite life
And if it dies before I do
It’s as certain as rain and taxes
That I would follow shortly
So shunning the advice of friends and foes
Setting my shoulder to the till
Every breaking dawn
10 minutes running like the hounds of hell were fast on my heels
Drop and give 50 I imagine the drill serge shouting
6KG raised 60 times per hand like the labours of Hercules were fostered on me
It barely keeps the bands at bay
But I shall not be deterred from my singleness of purpose
Even though I teeter on the edge of fatness!
* Suya – peppered roasted beef
* Coldstone ice – icecream from a shop called Coldstone