Mrs. Cikk0, welldone o…
Letter to the future Mrs.
As I write this, we haven’t met. If we have, know that I am presently thinking of you as a proper pretender right now. You are forming. Why did you form all this while when you know you wanted to get down with the cikky icky? Anyway, some insights for thee. I’m writing them now so we can gauge how much more of a douche I have become since we wed. This allows me blame you for all my new flaws and chastise you for not helping me be rid of the shortcomings evidenced below. So here goes.
Food is essential…
Call me old school but you gotta know how to cook well. Very well. Don’t get it twisted: I can cook. At least everything that I like to eat, I can make. And I’ll always be learning to cook new stuff when I can so that you don’t ever ‘shakara’ me because of grub.
Having said that, there’s this thing: my Dad is a stubborn guy. He holds his wife in high esteem but there are some things he prides himself on being able to hold back on. There are certain things no one can goad him into doing. Not even my mom.
Unless she asks him after certain meals.
Mrs. Cikk0, I’ve seen this thing at work several times. Wallahi my mom’s food can break juju and loosen strongholds. This guy will yell at people he ordinarily wouldn’t yell at just because she made him do it after feeding him some unreal chow. Like he can’t even be mad at the person who cooked the food even if she spat in his face right after.
I want that.
I’ve said this many times to people and on prior posts on this blog: manipulate the hell outta me. I don’t mind. Only food oh! Bedroom manipulation, far as I’m concerned, is of the devil himself. Not cool. But if you cook that food right, watch me change the name on those Certificates of Occupancy. Spaghetti is my achilles heel number one. Followed by rice and beans cooked together and eaten with all those sauces that have plenty veggies. See, I’m even leaving hints! Then concotion(sp?) rice is also a fans’ favourite. Basically, all mede-mede and catering practicals are allowed. I like to experiment.
Speaking of experiments, and yes this is the sex part, we shall. Experiment that is. Nothing is barred. Except for that one thing which I’m sure I’ve told you of by now. Other than that, I’m up for some tying, gagging, role-playing, dominating, S&M sturvs. The whole works. Oh wait. Apart from that one thing, I also won’t do autoerotic asphyxiation. How did I hear about that? Google ‘David Carradine’ and stop being a learner.
If you’ve already had our first kid, this next point is moot because I should have already started practising it. If not, know that I wanna be hands on with that childcare business. I think those things are important for many reasons. I’ve heard that quite a few couples tend to grow apart when the kids are born because all some fathers do is hoist the kid in the air thrice daily, make googly eyes, and then wait till their wives are good to have sex again. Also, I’ve come to love the process. It is hell and it will drive us mad but it’s only for a while. They’ll grow up and I’ll get to knock you up again so we can repeat that song and dance.
So help me God, the plan is to own my business – whether it’s the music or whatever – and be the master of my own time. I’d rather work smart than hard. I need time to watch our kids grow. I cannot tell you how many fathers I’ve seen retire after 100 years of work only to realize that they don’t have a working relationship with their children. That money is grrrrrrreat, but I swear it’s not that important. At least not more important than family.
Speaking of money, if you’re reading this, Mrs. Cikk0, it means that I’ve sorted this conundrum one way or the other. But as of the time of writing this, I’m totally confused as to how much money I should have before gathering liver to toast/marry you. I know what I’ll tell our daughters but for the present hour, I’m working my Igbo genes and trying to stack the money as high as possible. Some believe you should have plenty dough, some say you should just have stability, others say you need not have much as long as you’re driven, dedicated and intelligent. The reality is that I’ve seen all three scenarios work well and fail miserably in almost equal measure. What shall I tell our daughters? Option three. Because that’s the only option that’s likely to stand the test of time. That’s what is likely to get him back on his feet when life happens. Who knows though… I might yet change my mind.
I will not cheat. Not because I’m super-human or gay on the side. Not because I haven’t noticed the sick curves my colleague or employee has. Not because I’m better than any of the guys who actually cheat (I probably ain’t; you of all people must by now be aware that I ain’t shii) but because I choose not to. Plain and simple. I hear all the talk of “but all men cheat… What of when I’m pregnant and bloated and raw and uninterested in gbenshin’?… What of when I let myself go?…” Bollocks to infinity. Don’t judge me with the same standards you’d use to judge those rat bastards that did you strong tin before me. The guy who gives any of those as an excuse – or any excuse for that matter – was always bound to cheat from the moment he got married: he was simply waiting for justification. However, don’t be fooled into thinking I’m any better than the next guy just because I’ve decided not to be a Nakamura. Assuredly I say unto thee, I shall find 5,000 other ways to piss you off on a daily daily. You shall annoy me as well but we shall forgive each other and make nice every time. I hope.
Also, please don’t hit me. No, I won’t hit you back. I’ll likely run and hide behind a couch and all my friends will end up calling me Pussygalore. And that’ll just be one moniker too many. But really, grown people should never hit each other. Simples. Act your age and talk to me if I’m pissing you off. Let’s talk and fight and wake the neighbours but let’s keep our hands in the air and in our pockets and folded in front of us but never on each other.
Unless the sex requires it. In that case, my safe word/phrase is “Randy Sausage” or “God of Elijah” or “Yeepa!” Kindly be informed that “Jesus”, no matter how many times I repeat it in quick succession, is NEVER a safe word. Quite the opposite. Thanks.
As for the kids? We shall beat them well please. No child abuse or scarring and only as a last resort; also not as an expression of anger or transferred aggression. But I ain’t gon’ raise no kids that talk back. Na madness? “Backhand-per-insolence” shall be the family’s motto.
Divorce is not an option but…
But don’t ever give up on us, don’t disrespect me (as I shall strive not to disrespect you) and yes… don’t naq our neighbour or their relatives or our driver or his friend. If I can’t do it, you ain’t doing it neither. If anybody other than Christopher Ikenna Ogbuehi of Umueju village, Irette, Owerri-West LGA of Imo state has consensual sexual relations with you…
It af finitch!
Unless it’s Robert Downey Jnr. In which case NOT getting pregnant shall be the equivalent crime. And the punishment shall be same.
That’s all for now. You married a correct dude, shebi you know? You laugh often don’t you? Aha. Yes, I know you’re awesome too but take a second to bask. There you go…