"I know we dreamt of these things, but now it seems like your standards are too high."
Adira Archibong wants to be a supermodel, but as she steps into a world of money, fame, and sex, she learns that the only people she can trust are her friends.
...
"I'm a very down to earth person. But it is my job to make that earth is more pleasant." - Karl Lagerfeld.
The hardest thing about giving up a bad habit as well, giving up.
Ndidi was on the verge of throwing everything away until she got an appointment. Slowly, she got up from her bed which was ridden of blankets and pillowcases. It was a Saturday. She walked to the kitchen intending to prepare herself a face and hair mask before taking her bath again.
"Avocado," she said, taking out a pulp of it.
"Eggs," she wrinkled her nose in disgust. "And olive oil."
"Olive oil?" she repeated when she couldn't find it. She searched the cupboard but didn't find it there.
"Oh, fuck. I must have left it in the room," she muttered to herself.
She walked through the long corridor that led to the living room, then to her bedroom. It was one of the reasons she bought the house. The long corridor wasn't disturbing or nerve cracking at all. It was there she practised how to walk elegantly before going on her dates.
After giving her little show, she glided into the living room which was a bit disorganized, so she lingered there trying to put things in place. She got back to her room, grabbed the olive oil, and left for the kitchen once more.
While in the kitchen, she bought her ingredients into a bowl, and whisked it to a paste, applied it on her face, and also on her hair. It felt cool on her face, and it reeked like hell.
Disregarding the stench, she took a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator in the kitchen, opened it, poured herself a glass, and sat in the living room like a young, rich divorcee.
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Brenda stood outside Ndidi's front door. She tapped her foot nervously and glanced at her watch.
Is this the right time to tell her? she thought.
She felt afraid and she was certain it showed. She nodded to herself, then knocked quietly.
Inside the kitchen, Ndidi paused, her hands dropping from her glass. The knock came again. Abruptly washing her hands in the sink, she let herself think. She wasn't expecting anyone at the moment.
She walked to the living, not putting up a show this time. She crossed a few pieces of furniture then she reached the door. Outside she met Brenda, who looked nervous and flushed. In all, she didn't look herself.
"Brenda, what are you doing here?" "Are you okay?" she asked, trying to cover up for her rather absurd question.
"I'm fine," Brenda answered listlessly.
Ndidi stared at her sceptically. "Are you sure?"
"What's in your hair?" Brenda asked, set on channelling the attention away from herself.
