Random Thoughts Of The Lady Next Door

RATED 15+ I think one day of my adult life I want to continue to remember as significant is the first time I rocked a dress to an event, braless. Like a typical church girl would, I squirmed when I first stepped out in the dress (I felt naked 😅). But as the day progressed, I began to enjoy the comfort of not having my chest constricted by metal underwires and hooks.  Society might never immediately understand why the contemporary woman attaches so much significance to bras—or the freedom from having to wear them, especially when she has no real need to (I'm speaking for small-breasted women here, please).  I'm thinking back to every single time I have felt the pressure to present myself in the image of an ideal woman: with perfectly round, sizeable mounds on the chest, when all of my breasts could easily be cupped in one palm. How did this do-or-die affair of mine with padded bras begin? Why did I feel indecent for not wearing a bra? Social conditioning? I have ce...

Yesterday morning I uploaded (on my WhatsApp status) a goofy 10-sec video of me dancing and winding my waist to Ladipoe's "Know You." It would have passed for twerking if I had any noticeable bum and my waist weren't so stiff. While having a casual discussion with my granny later in the evening, the conversation somehow veered towards conservative people who suddenly "open-eye." I then told her about this prudish female cousin of mine who has lately begun to adopt a new lifestyle. She now wears trousers (tight-fitting ones, even), makeup and generally seems to be more liberal about life. For an average Christian, nothing she did was out of the ordinary. But it seemed more provocative when she did it because she was raised by a mother who permitted neither earrings, makeup nor even tights (undergarment. They, according to her, are no different from trousers).  As if to further confound me, she uploaded videos of herself half-dancing and half-twerking today. S...

Today being Mother's Day, I'll be sharing these words by Joy Isi Bewaji with you. They resonate so deeply with me that I could have as well written them.  The niggaa is sick, so one of her hands has a wet towel on his forehead. Her second hand is washing clothes manually. Third hand is cooking. Fourth hand is grinding pepper. Fifth handing, hoeing. Sixth hand, sorting out firewood. Seventh hand, giving a child a bath, while the younger one sleeps soundly on her back. There usually would be an eight hand sweeping, and a ninth hand doing the dishes, and the tenth hand flipping through a third child's homework. Cute. . Remind your daughters, when they become women, they have only two hands. TWO HANDS. Nothing more. . The rule for the New Woman is: If two hands and a smart brain cannot get the work done, then it is toil you can do without. Structure your life early enough to make sure you do not become a slave in institutions that promised you happiness.  Capeesh? ....

A man smashed his newborn baby to death because he was angry that the child was female, as opposed to the male child he had been anticipating. This happened here in Nigeria, not three hundred years ago, but three days ago. I do not enjoy writing sensational gossip, neither do I ever seek to take advantage of people's misfortunes by writing about it just to enjoy increased readership. But this story had to be shared, even if for no other reason than to remind depraved intellectuals that misogyny still exists in our society, and that gender inequality is not a figment of the imaginations of gender equality advocates. That murdered neonate didn't have to grow up to do anything that would warrant hate. For the mere fact that she came with a vagina instead of a penis, she was already doomed to abuse and hate. The nation is led by a president who declared that his wife is useful in no other place except the kitchen and the "other room," and lawmakers who beat women up unpro...