Problems...
Mrs chuks just heard a rumour that the girls in Lagos are hot-hot-hot like monkey pepper soup. Probably just started by some jealous helicopter pilot, but you know how women are! Now she wants me to stay right where I am, Cabin Number 37, Burning Sands Airstrip, East Nowhere, Algeria.
It would help very much if you, Mr Coolings, could please inform her that your company works to ISO 9001 Standards which totally preclude any sort of jiggy-jiggy on the part of toppest floor staff such as I hope to be.
I already pointed out to her the way the Page 3 girls from "Punch, The Paper for Lively Minds" had their pointy bits blacked out years ago by small-minded mens with black markers plus the way that naughty movie Boogie Nights was banned despite large outbreaks of roadside cannibalism in our very own Centre of Excrements but the miserable woman is screeching like a fishwife plus flailing away at my bonce with one high-quality German frying pan every time I float the idea of a return to my second home.
We Oyingbo are not the mastahs you Yoruba are and I need help, otherwise there shall be one empty office on that toppest floor and no one to applaud your memos, laugh at your jokes and carry your bag to the Vee-boot at the end of the short working day.
"No condition is permanent," okay, but this domestic life is lasting very, very long.