The SIXTEENTH (when the table turns)
It was “hookup night” on this popular radio station. It was one of those nights that people who still believe in blind dates; people, who still believe that love can be found in unusual places, look forward to shooting their shots.
Ladies who supposedly fit these requirements are then expected to call these numbers; get acquainted, and hopefully, take things from there.
I was in the mood to “catch cruise” this particular night, so I called the radio station.
I know I have a fantastic voice and the fact that I’d painted a picture of an averagely reasonable partner certainly gave me an edge.
I woke up the following morning to thirty-plus missed calls, from different numbers. This was rather strange; surprising because I don’t have so many friends. The few I have, hardly ever called. We prefer to chat because it saves money and our small ten-megabyte data would usually last a reasonable duration.
The most missed calls I’ve ever seen on my phone are two. And they were usually from my mother.
All the while, I’d forgotten about the radio program from the night before. I just sat up, on my bed wondering who these people could be and more importantly, what they wanted with me. I asked why they couldn’t wait for the day to break, instead of calling my line at the ungodly hour they did.
Since I barely had airtime on my phone to call all thirty-plus numbers back, I simply told myself that if any of these calls were as important, the person at the other end of it would know to send me a text message or maybe, call back.
Well, this story is not about the fifteen other very amazing beings that eventually called back; amazing girls I later got to meet; got to know.
This story is about one in particular; the SIXTEENTH.
Mandy’s voice over the phone was “out of this world” amazing. The way she giggles at my jokes was always soothing to my soul.
Mandy was smart too. I never had to explain a single joke like I’d have to, with most people.
Mandy always seemed to mirror ME.
Whenever I am lost for words to finish a thought, Mandy would tell me not to stress my pretty brain finding the right words. She’ll simply tell me that she understands.
At first, this was very strange to me. Finishing the next man’s thought was usually my thing. Imagine the feeling that came with being on the receiving end of this.
Mandy and I soon walked up to seem as though we’d known ourselves “forever”, in less than a week of constant chat and calls.
Mandy did most of the calling. Every time I try to match up; show myself (with my small one hundred nairas borrowed airtime) by asking her to drop a call, “let me call you back”, she’ll always give me that beautiful giggle. She’ll then follow it up by saying, “it’s fine Fred, we can talk.”
We’ll usually be on the line for hours.
Mandy and I spoke on the phone, at least four times a day, every day, for five months, before we finally met in person.
With Mandy, there was always something interesting to talk about.
“Where have you been all my life, Fred?” Mandy will often ask me, amid a beautiful giggle.
This was another “thinking alike” because I’ve nursed the same thoughts since that first day I heard Mandy introduce herself to me over the phone.
In less than a month of constant chats and calls, Mandy and I have practically known virtually everything about each other.
Well, so I thought
To be continued…