I love weddings and I attend a lot of them, so much so that my friends often tease me about it, saying I should start charging people to attend their weddings. Now, the funny thing is that a few years ago, I did not like weddings and I rarely attended them, because attending such ceremonies back then, when I was still struggling with my sexual identity, was like throwing darts at myself, frequent reminders of the things I would never have. I even had fantasies of sticking out my leg when a bride walked down the aisle and having her tumble on the floor in an indignant mass of lace and tulle (lol).

However my perspective changed when I began to live on my own terms, and I started to enjoy weddings as parties that they are and subsequently started attending all the weddings I was invited to. It doesn’t hurt also that I love jollof rice (mogbomo branch, anyone) and wine, plus I totally enjoy flirting with bridesmaids, especially if I’m serving as a groom’s man. Many bridesmaids come to weddings looking to find a man, and I love when they consider me a potential boyfriend (or fiancé….lol). And I flirt shamelessly with them until after the wedding when I start to ignore them on BBM, and they get the picture and move on.

Speaking of marriage and weddings, I have realized – decided, more like – that I am not marriageable and this has nothing to do with my sexuality. I love my own company and space too much that if someone hangs around too much, I start to have anxiety attacks and become easily irritable. It later began to make sense when I was diagnosed of OCD last year. I remember when I was little, my mom always said I would have been an only child if I had come first, seeing as I was too much of a loner. Fortunately the people closest to me know this about me and they don’t take it personal, so it’s not even an issue for them. I generally take humans in small doses and feel pressured when you come on too strongly; even when friends visit, they know just the right amount of time to spend with me before I become irritable. Le Boo also knows this and has figured out a way to work around this without us fighting. I will probably be single forever, living in a Victorian style mansion full of books, antiques and eight dogs.

I hate when you hang with expatriates who come to Nigeria for work and they tell you how smart you sound and how different you are, as if it is un-Nigerian to be smart. It’s even more irritating when you realize they think they are actually paying you a compliment. To them, Nigerians are generally dumb, and when they meet a smart one, they are often genuinely surprised. I will come back to this story in another issue.

However I do think there are Nigerians who fit and perpetuate this “dumb” stereotype and have no interest in things happening around them. I am sorry if this comes off as high-horse-y, but I did meet one recently. I hung out with my friends one evening, and one of them invited someone who came with his course-mate (whom I shall call Ben). We all had a good time sharing lewd jokes with wine-fuelled laughter, and when it was time to leave, Ben (who did not do much talking) suddenly asked for my phone number. There was an awkward silence as everybody thought I was going to decline, but I did not. I went ahead and reeled out my digits to him, partly because I was tipsy and did not care, and partly because he had the best jaw line I have ever seen. A well defined and structured jaw line is my biggest turn on in a man’s body, which explains my huge crush on Denola Grey, and recently Max. This guy however had the best jaw line I had seen in a long time.

We later started talking on whatsapp and decided to hang out on a Saturday, a decision I later came to regret. The dude knew next to nothing about everything, and I kept struggling from topic to topic, trying to find something that he could relate easily to – politics, music, movies, sports, books, art… It was literarily crickets. The Bill Cosby brouhaha came on TV in the eatery that we met, and he did not even know Dr. Huxtable.

At that point, I gave up and starting texting on my phone. He said Chika Ike was his favorite actress, and I looked up from my phone with horror. As if that wasn’t bad enough for me, he invited me to a church crusade. That was when I got up and told him I was leaving, and I told the lie every man must have told at some point: “I will call you.”

The other day here, we were arguing about stereotypes that we create based on sexual roles and silly things such as grammar, and I laughed so hard because of one of my friends (who is reading this by the way and will kill me after). He came to my house one Saturday and asked a guy he had been chatting up (who lives in my area) over. The very good looking guy came over and I found him very smart and knowledgeable – I mean, any guy who has read all of Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Milhone’s novels is a man after my own heart. I kept chatting with this guy about the books he’d read, and my friend was mostly quiet; and when the guy was leaving, the goodbye was awkward. When the guy left, I told my friend it was rude to ignore his guest.

And do you know what he said? 🙂

“Dennis, that guy is not a top. Tops don’t talk too much, they are usually reserved. Any guy that runs his mouth too much from one topic to another like word processor is a bottom, he is nwanyi ibem. Leave me biko. I am not a lesbian.”

I shook my head, as clearly I’d overestimated my friend’s intelligence if he truly believed that. But then what can I say… Whatever floats your boat.

Enjoy the rest of the week, guys.

OAN, I spent some time in Lagos recently and I discovered this ice cream place in Ikeja called Cold Stone Creamery, which had sinfully pleasant ice cream that had me cuming (plenty pun intended) every night. On the final day of my trip, I was grateful that this place doesn’t exist in Port Harcourt, because by now I would have been fat, then bulimic, and then become an unhappy person who pours vitriol on people who don’t give a shit about me. *runs away with my Ebube Nwagbo legs*


Dennis Macaulay

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