Sandra was my motivation for most things right from our days in University. She was the first friend I made there and we had stuck together ever since. She was my motivation to join the Student Union, to start working out, expand my hairdressing business and even to write my final year thesis because I was not mentally prepared for it and was ready to pay someone to do it. Now, after months of trying to get over a futile three years relationship, she was my motivation to return to the dating scene once again. Well, it was more of a persuasion, but I could contend with that.

The man in front of me doesn’t seem much older than me. It is a blind date. So far my perception of him has been neutral, I am neither impressed nor disappointed. At least I haven’t compared him with my ex as I often did when a guy took an interest in me. Now that I’ve thought about it, I might have to indulge. He has a better posture, diction and composure. He didn’t beat his looks and sense of humor though. He eats more than him as well, at least for a first date requesting another portion of food portrayed that.

Still lost in contrast, he asks the first question that took me by surprise. “Sorry, what?”. I ask, not sure if I want him repeat the question or just to confirm if he meant it as a joke. “Do you have any kids?”, he asks again with the same smile plastered on his face. The urge to respond in the affirmative is there, having taken care of my younger ones since they were pushed out, bathed them, fed them, been punished on their behalf, sacrificed my peace of mind for them and now even paying the school fees of the last born, this is no surprise. Being the first daughter in a Nigerian home, or at least in mine, is a stone’s throw away from having kids. It is basically motherhood but without the conception. “No”. I answer, firmly.

“Have you been married before”, he asks, this time his smile translates into a smirk. I don’t know why he is asking me this, I wish he’d stop being evasive. To be honest, this is beginning to put me off. Do I look like someone who has been married before?. No, it’s not the way I look, I’m not going back to criticizing my looks. Been there, done that. I look my age, or perhaps even younger. I have not been married before.

Living together with Tunde for two years in the house we both chose, getting to know his family, planning a future together and even opening a joint account does not count as marriage. No, not after he left me to be engaged to a girl he had known for just two months. I feel a sharp but brief pain my chest, I haven’t felt it in weeks but there it is again. Damn.

“No.” I say again, this time not concealing the irritation in my tone. “Sorry, are my questions weird?”, he asks laughing. “I am just getting to know you nah, if not that we were in this part of the world I would have asked if you were born a woman”. He adds quickly due to my lack of response.

I am contemplating leaving or actually staying to know his next vacuous question when a pregnant woman walks in and starts pulling his ears. He gets up and follows her out right after she looks at me disdainfully. I don’t need to be told that that is his wife, I can feel the eyes staring at me across the room.

Now, I don’t know if I am more annoyed by the fact that he left his pregnant wife at home to waste my time, or that he left without paying for his meal. I don’t notice the waiter who comes with the bill is different from the one who served us, until he hands me my payment receipt. This one is cute. The look on his face is a bit confusing, I don’t know if it is pity as to what just happened or if he is just nervous. He smiles a little but his eyes tell me something different. However, I carry my handbag and walk away quickly without turning back.

I have had enough of men for the day.