I have dry skin. Very dry skin. Which I inherited in combination, with my nose and D-cup, from my lovely parents, whom in retrospect where probably not considering the resulting mixture of their genes when they did that which shall not be named. Read More »
I started the day : A strong, independent, Nigerian woman —– having cake for breakfast. And I didn’t even bake it myself. My friend was baking a cake for someone’s birthday, and it’s a silent unspoken rule between us, that when she’d “level” the cake, I would have some of that.
As you well know, it’s not even close to healthy for breakfast, or any meal, but I was too lazy to make anything else. However, after a few mouthfuls of cake, I got introspective. Like, soul-out-of-body-look-at-your-life kinda introspective. And I’m thinking,
what am I doing? I’m totally going to feel awful after eating this. Bloated too.
The first book of hers I read was the “Kitchen God’s Wife. I was in secondary school then, and read anything I could lay my hands on (but made sure the x-rated ones were behind closed doors… Sorry, Mom).