CLAD

3

The heavenly aroma of fried plantain and fried eggs gently tickled my nose and rose me to consciousness. It was 10am and I couldn't understand why and how I had slept so long.

Maybe I had been too full after the humongous mound of eba and ofe onugbu soup I consumed the previous night or because I had to stay up till about 3am before I succumbed to sleep while Ifeoma was soaking me in gist about her new jewellery store in Cape Town and how there was this cute white baker hunk whose bakery was a few blocks away.

Ifeoma had moved to South Africa three months after our convocation, impenitently leaving me, her best friend of almost two decades. She went to run a short course in Styling after obtaining a bachelor's in Estate Management.

She had countless best-dressed awards to her name while we were in school and made a job of styling models for photoshoots and hosts at the top events during the last three semesters. Of all fashion items however, the blings caught her fancy, which is why I wasn't surprised when she called me last year to tell me that she opened a jewellery store and that the South African Presidents' daughter swore allegiance to her enterprise at the launch. At that point I doubted the possibility of her ever returning to Nigeria. But here she was, super happy that Andrew was getting married.

I lazily rolled off of Ifeoma's bed and landed on my knees on the soft yellow rug. I said a little prayer before wearing my slip-ons and picking up my toiletries. As I walked towards the bathroom, Ifeoma swung the door open and with a weak attempt at a frown she howled,

"I woke you up three times already. Can you hurry up?!"

"I'm so sorry, I guess I was just too tired. I'll be ready in five, no, ten minutes." I said as I dashed into the bathroom.

"Yeah right! You are 'too tired'. I just can't wait to know who the lucky guy is, who was able to get you 'too tired'!" I heard her say laughing very hard.

"Seriously?!" I vocalised with my toothbrush between my teeth.

"Absolutely. Everyone is almost done eating. I'll pack your food for you so you can eat in the car. I hope you love your dress. Its in the wardrobe, the one on the left!" She said as she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Not again! Was that why she wanted to know my present dress size? Ifeoma had chatted me up last month about how she had put on weight and she asked for my dress size jokingly. I thought she wanted to compare. I didn't know she had this in mind.

Last time Ifeoma dressed me up I yearned to disappear into thin air. The dress left nothing to the imagination and I felt almost naked. We were going for the dinner organised for final year students in  her faculty. As she had recently broken up with a guy for the umpteenth time, she asked me to go with her. She was very displeased with the simple, green, A line dress I wore to her room. She succeeded in making me look on like a  clownish model.

***

I looked at myself in the mirror on the corridor one last time and though I was pleased with the fitting of this dress, it sorta... a lotta wasn't my style. It was a royal blue, lace, peplum dress with a knee high slit and a sunken back. The the sleeves were so heavily beaded it felt like I was the bride.
"Perfecto! Tres Magnifique et belle."

I looked sideways to see Mrs Amadi staring and smiling at me like I was some kind of goddess. She was a crazy traveller and she had a truck load of foreign vocabulary which she carefully concoted and served us from time to time.

I had almost finalised plans of going up to change into my hitherto planned grey shift dress but I knew it was over as she pulled me out of the house till I and Ifeoma were standing side by side before her a few metres from the cars.