Oh, what can I tell you that I have not already blogged or talked about? Well, my menstrual cycle is five days long. The fifth day is really just drips and leaks, if at all. The toilet [only the one in my house, please) is one of my favorite places to be. I can do anything in there. Anything.

I was born in a foreign land, and once upon a time, I was fluent in their language. That time of my life is now over. I have spent most of my life outside Nigeria. Oh. Did I mention that I’m Nigerian? I am absolutely lactose intolerant. Peak Milk is the worst kind, which explains why I cannot stay away from it.

My mother thinks I’m still a virgin. And I do not write this to imply that I’m not. Because I am. Of course. I suffer from a chronic case of perpetual hard nipples that transcends all fabrics, all temperatures, and all moods; it has not been officially recognized as a disease, but any day now. I aspire to be many, many things; maker-of-money-while-sleeping-and-for-sleeping is just one of them.

I was made strictly for comfort. I am not yet as comfortable as I need to be. My parents have no idea what I - the pride of their loins - have turned into. I intend to keep it this way