28, Clumsy & Clueless

Last updated on April 5th, 2024 at 07:54 am

I can feel the bottom of the pool beneath my feet. Logically, I should not be drowning but here I am, drowning. Is this how I die? I vaguely register the instructor holding my right hand. Common sense tells me I am probably squeezing his fingers, but I am struggling to stay afloat, you can’t blame me. Can you drown in a pool? Two strong arms wrap around my waist and within a few seconds, I’m lifted out of the pool. 

“I told you to hold your breath for three seconds under the water. I also reminded you to stand above the water if you couldn’t withstand it.” My usually calm instructor almost screams. He shakes his head and keeps quiet. I look down at my swim shorts, I have nothing to say.

I was keen on proving my mum and sister wrong, they said that I was too clumsy to do this when I mentioned my interest to them. That was three months ago, right now, I am not too proud of myself considering the little progress I’ve made. Not that it’s a surprise. It took me registering in about three different driving schools for me to get the hang of moving a car. Even at that, I incurred so much expense from ramming into fences, walls, and just about anything, thankfully, no human was hurt. I still drive now, but only within my street. I’ve been banned by my parents from driving on major roads after I crumbled our neighbour’s fence trying to reverse out of our compound. It’s not my fault though, reversing a car is difficult. How do people do it?

Now that I’m safe from danger, I take the time to look at my instructor and really notice his arms, which are thick and covered in hair. Did he get that bulky build and broad shoulders by swimming or is he naturally like that? I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I think that the fear of potentially dying has awakened parts of me that are wilting. Either that or I need to find a lover and “settle down” (in my parents’ words). Some of our relatives have also hinted at the fact that I’m unmarried (actually, without a potential boyfriend) at twenty-eight because my parents spoilt me. What does that even mean? 

I was the only child for about twelve years before my mum brought home a scrawny-looking baby from the hospital one day and told me she was my sister.  At that age, one would think that I should be able to tell that my mother was pregnant, but as the relatives said, I was spoilt. That, or I was busy enjoying my world as an only child born to a family filled with love and, though my parents have never agreed—a little indulgence. 

Between going to school, stuffing my stomach with every food within my vicinity, and a million extracurricular activities (which I obviously failed at), I didn’t know that my mother was pregnant for nine months, even though I almost had to be cuddled every night to sleep. In my defense, my dad cuddled me more, plus, when I saw the pictures of her that year, her stomach wasn’t all that huge, although her breasts were as large as two giant watermelons.

I should have been jealous of my sister and the attention that shifted from me to her as soon as she came home, but I was surprised at how much I loved her. I even cut back on some of the nonacademic activities (this was the sole reason and not also the fact that I wasn’t doing well in any of them) to spend more time with my sister. 

Now, at sixteen, Valiente has grown into a model—tall, chocolate kind of dark, and slim with facial features to die for. This wasn’t the best part of my sister, she was also confident, charming, and wiser than the average sixteen-year-old. Our only similarity was intelligence; we were both good at our academic work. Where I was clumsy, Valiente was smooth. Where I struggled with nonacademic activities and other sports, my sister was decent at almost everything and perfect in basketball. Suffice it to say that my younger sister should have been the first. I love her regardless and won’t let anything hurt her.

“Adim, maybe you should take a break from your lessons for a while.” My swimming instructor scratches a spot on his jaw. “I’m sorry, but we can’t refund you.” He continues hesitantly. It’s awkward for both of us, but I put him in that situation. I am used to being in awkward situations.

“It’s fine, coach.” I get up and steady myself for a bit before heading to the toilet to change my clothes. That marks the end of my swimming endeavour. I wonder why I try.

While Valiente is slim and tall, I am the total opposite. I regard my body as too loud. Yes! I’m light-skinned and curvy from head to toe. Okay, my toes are definitely not curved. Triple d bust which leaves me struggling to find the right bra size, a slim waist, and wide hips leaving a gap wide enough to fit a football around my waist whenever I wear a pair of jeans that’s not the stretchy type. A really loud body because hiding the body is simply impossible. 

One might expect a lot of confidence from someone with my type of body, but it’s been the number one source of my lack of confidence (and that’s a secret that I never shared with anyone). The lewd stares, catcalls, questioning looks (as if I had cosmetic surgery, which I’ve been asked more than once), and even the compliments I get only add to my life’s problems. I don’t like the attention.

Many times, you’ll find me indoors binge-watching a series or reading a crime book. Whenever I deem it necessary and totally unavoidable to go out, I wear big clothes, big enough to cover my body and probably hide another human. It’s no shock that I don’t have a lover. More than “settling down” (whatever this means to my parents), I want to find genuine love, not someone like my ex who was only there to show off his trophy. “Babe, wear that tight black dress.” He would say every other Friday night as he took me out on a date. That was four years ago when I finished my first degree.

“Adim, please, I have a visitor downstairs. Help me give him some refreshments while I round off here.” My dad says peeking into my room. After spending about two years in the US doing my master’s degree, I just concluded my one-year service and don’t know what to do with my life. I still stay home with my entitled family who barge into my room after knocking on the door once. 

My initial plan was to work in my dad’s bakery after school—I was sure he could find a role that was unrelated to my course (Accounting) because he’d rather my sixteen-year-old sister who is still in secondary school handle the finances of his business than me. Now though, my plans are shaky because recently, my parents announced that they want to hand over their bakery to an investor who will not only invest and manage the business but will also pay them monthly dividends.

I plaster a smile on my face as I go downstairs to the visiting area with sausage rolls and apple juice on a tray (one of the perks of the bakery is that we always have snacks at home. Not such a perk for me though). I need to make a decent impression considering that this person can potentially be my employer. I am standing with the tray in front of my supposed potential employer even though I am no longer sure—I didn’t expect my potential employer to be this hot and young. I was expecting someone in his forties with a pot belly and maybe a receding hairline.

I stand like a statue before a young man (he can’t be more than thirty) dressed in navy blue suede Danshiki, striped aso oke trousers, and a cap. The Danshiki sleeves are short enough for me to see his biceps, which look like he spends nothing less than ten hours weekly in the gym. In my sister’s words, his outfit is “wicked.” He is reading something on his phone so he doesn’t notice that there’s a human statue before him. 

I clear my throat and shift on my feet, then he raises his head. I swear that he looks dazed, almost entranced but he almost immediately replaces it with a smile, a breathtaking one. Without the smile, Mr Investor is drop-dead gorgeous; with the smile, I am sure in his lifetime he’s been responsible for many cases of heart failure in women. Tell me why my brows are twitching at the sight of this man dressed in traditional attire. Oh! It must be the attire. I will my legs to move, and, surprisingly, they obey.

You see, my parents told me and pictures confirm that I didn’t walk until I was eighteen months old. Guess when Val walked? Eight months! I’m trying to say that this is the reason I’m a bit clumsy when I move my lower limbs. In a bid to drop the tray on the nearby stool, I’ve somehow drenched Mr Investor/ potential boss’ trousers. He’s taking it way more graciously than he should.

“It’s okay.” He replies as I fumble around on my hands and knees and apologise to him. I’m mortified.

“Etim!” My father roars as he descends the stairs. At this point, our visitor gets up and holds his hand out to me. Up until he offered to help me up from the floor, my brain didn’t think to get a napkin from the kitchen. I am too busy attempting to salvage his refreshment. I allow him to help me up and am about to turn to go to the kitchen when my father appears. 

“Adim baby.” He says smiling. I almost roll my eyes as I quickly detangle my hand from my potential boss’ hand and rush to the kitchen. I can now see why those jobless relatives (what? Did you think I was happy with them?) say that my parents spoilt me. It’s their fault. They are loving to the core. I mean the cheesy, sappy, patient, highly tolerant, never-shouts-or-spanks kind of loving. I just soiled my father’s visitor’s trousers and my dad didn’t scold me, not even a frown. From the kitchen, I hear him apologising seriously yet casually to Mr Investor, sorry, Etim. 

I head back to the visiting area with a napkin and another tray and make sure not to spill the content this time around—my parents can be tolerant enough to spoil their children, but Mr Etim might not be, plus he’s not my father. I clean up the mess and apologise once more before leaving them.

“Adim honey.” My dad says once more as I leave. This time I can’t help but smile. Okay, kill me, I’m daddy’s girl…and mummy’s girl. What can I say? My parents have more than enough love to give. I’m blessed… and simply clueless about my life. Twenty-eight, clumsy and clueless. I am unaware that I’ve been holding my breath until I get to my room. I exhale and look at myself in the mirror and gasp. 

Outside, I barely wear tight clothes. It’s a different ball game in my house though. As if I am cheering for my freedom, I wear the skimpiest outfit. Currently, I’m wearing a lacy bralette that shows an indecent amount of cleavage and shorts that are so short, my butt cheeks are almost out. I was on my hands and knees fumbling around in these! I served my father’s potential business investor wearing this!

My mother used to be a bank manager. She quit her job two years ago and started a nontoxic, scented candle business. To my surprise, the business did well within the first six months of starting it. Two years later, and she has more than twenty employees, who knew people loved candles like that.

While I figure out my life, I sometimes visit her at the main store then we come home together. After completing the tenth episode of Modern Family, Season 1 for probably the hundredth time, I get up and get dressed to go to her shop.

“Hi, Elena.” I smile at the beautiful receptionist. 

“Adim dim.” She replies as I head into my mum’s office.

“Mummy, I think I’m hungry.” I enter my mum’s open-door office without looking up. I drop onto her couch and start to pull my slippers when I raise my head.

“Well, good afternoon to you too.” My mum says. I mumble a reply and chew at my lips. Etim is here. I shouldn’t call him by his first name, he could be my boss soon. He is here and staring at me, maintaining his cool demeanour.

After the incident at home, I was really surprised and impressed at his composure that day. I also planned to right my wrongs should I get the chance. Now I have the opportunity, so I stand and extend my hand out to shake him.

“Good afternoon, Mr Etim. It’s nice to see you.” 

“Hi, Adim. Please call me Etim. It’s nice to see you too.” I smile in return and turn to my mum who has a weird smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, mummy,” I say then sit on the couch.

“Etim, I  wasn’t expecting to see you.” I should probably give them some privacy but this is my chance to show Etim another side of me. As usual, I’m wearing a boubou gown that could fit both my mum and me—the right attire for this type of conversation.

“Well, I’m here to get mummy’s approval to take over the business.” Did he just call my mother “mummy?”

“That’s nice. So you’ll be in charge of the bakery now?” I ask even though it’s obvious.

“Hopefully,” he smiles and looks at my mum, who still has that smile on her face. 

“I should leave you two then. I’m at the reception.” I get up and leave.

—-

“Adim.” My mother calls from her office. I hesitantly end my conversation with Elena.

“We’re done!” My mother breaks into a smile. I look at Etim and see that his scarce smile has featured, making him look charming. He’s wearing another traditional attire today. I think that’s his style.

“Congrats,” I say to him, offering my hand again. I’m not sure what this means for my future but I can be happy for him—young and making it.

“Umm,” my mum glances around. “I want to check on the people in the workshop. I’ll be back shortly. Adim make Etim comfortable.” Etim currently has a glass of juice and chicken pie before him, albeit untouched, how else do I make him comfortable? Before I can ask her, she hurries out, refusing to look at me. Why is my mother acting weird?

“Let me know if you need anything.” I smile at Etim and sit. He also sits and eats his snack.

It’s been an hour since mummy left Etim and me in her office. It’s awkward because we should probably be talking. He seems to be doing fine though, as he scrolls through his phone and types something intermittently. I stretch my head a little and see that he’s on Twitter. Twitter will do that to you—grab your attention for hours. I hear TikTok is worse. I’m on neither of them, call me old, but Facebook and Pinterest do it for me. I rack my head for something to say but come up with nothing.

“Con-”

“Sorry, kids.” My mum comes in at about the time that I wanted to say congratulations to Etim again. I’m glad she came, I’m not so sure how it would have sounded. Did my mum just refer to us as kids though?

“Mummy, you didn’t take long at all,” I answer sarcastically.

“Adim, you need to go home with Etim.” She ignores my comment.

“What?!” I screech. It’s obviously louder than intended, so I smile and try again. “Mummy, why are we not going together, you and me?”

“I’m busy.” Busy? That’s it? My mother is up to something and I’m going to unravel it, but that’s for later.

“I can wait.”

“No, your dad needs you at home.”

“I can order a ride.”

“I can take you home.” We both turn to look at Etim. If he hadn’t interfere, I would have continued the back and forth with my mum. 

“It’s so kind of you to offer, but I can order a ride. I came in one.” I wish my driving skills were decent.

“Adim, it’s not a problem.” The way he says it holds a tone of finality. I remind myself that I could be working under him and ought to behave. I look at my mum and she is smiling. Traitor! I can almost bet that my dad doesn’t even need me at home.

“You can work in my company.” I snort at his statement. I notice he uses “my” already and it hit me that my daddy no longer owns the bakery, at least not completely. Does this mean that we do not get free snacks again in the house? What’s the implication of this on my midnight snacking? Silly girl. More importantly, as someone really focused on her future and dreams, what’s the implication of this on my intention to work in my father’s bakery?

“What?” He asks, laughing. His hands on the wheel though. I drum my fingers on my purse. Who thinks such thoughts about their potential boss? I complain of objectification because of my body and I’m doing the same to someone in my mind. Is it the same thing? No, it’s different. I smile at him and continue drumming my fingers. This man gets me really nervous. Maybe because I’m going to work under him. I imagine what it’s like to be under him. I take myself by surprise with my train of thought. Good girl gone bad. I’m not the poster girl for good girls at this rate.

“I I can send in my CV.” I manage to answer him.

“That’s fine. Your dad mentioned that you have a master’s degree in Accounting.” I do? I almost forgot. Accounting is really my thing. At the risk of sounding like the true nerd that I am, something about working with numbers just makes me happy.

“Yes.” Yes? Yes, what? I might as well keep quiet since I’m incapable of coherence.

Over the next few weeks since I first met Etim, he’s been at our house way more frequently than I can count. Many times, he’s around to run things over with my dad. His presence isn’t bad, after all, he needs to get a good footing as the new owner of the bakery. The only issue is that since I never know when he’s coming, he always meets me scantily clad. At this rate, I can kiss my job at the bakery goodbye. I’m not sure I’ve lost my chances because of my dressing but mainly because I just don’t appear serious.

My parents seem to have also adopted him as their son or something. Always with more than enough love to give, they’ve been doting on him as if he were theirs. What has been puzzling though is how Etim and I always end up alone in the sitting room or anywhere in the house for that matter.

The other day, I strolled into the kitchen at past eight in the morning on a Saturday, and guess who was there with my family? You guessed right. Not only were they all cozy and happy, but my dad was also telling Etim, who seemed to be having the time of his life, about my failed swimming lessons. Exactly what I need. I intend to discuss my employment once he’s settled into the business but it never feels like the right time. That or my stupid crush on him. It’s my parents’ fault (it’s convenient to blame them) that I have a crush on him. Why get someone so young and handsome? Why make him come to the house so often? To the real problem, why do they allow us to stay alone? At this point, I’m very sure that something is up.

When I got into the kitchen that day, my dad stopped his story, stretched his arms and I got a hug. I kissed Val and my mum too before sitting on the stool beside the fridge.

“Nothing for me?” Etim asks. I thought my hearing had gone bad. Trust my loud father to help me.

“Adim, you didn’t hug Etim.” I look at Val who isn’t hiding her stupid smile. My mum is acting oblivious and suddenly moves towards the stove where my dad is frying eggs. I look at Etim and he’s pouting. No way. My brows start twitching as they do when I’m nervous. 

“It’s fine, Adim. I’m joking.” Etim says and saves me even though he technically put me on the line.

We all moved on that day and forgot about the incident. Everyone except me.

Many times, I dream about hugging him in the kitchen and smelling his cologne. My head will most likely come up to his chest and we’ll fit in all the right places. Those dreams still haunt me today. I just heard his voice and I can tell he’s in the sitting room. I brush my teeth and remember how he told me he wasn’t joking when he said what he said in the kitchen. As usual, my family had disappeared once the meal was ready. I just rolled my eyes at him in response. I have a crush on him but I am smart enough not to jeopardize my chances with my boss.

One time, he didn’t come for about two weeks and it took me a while (honestly, Val told me) to understand that my short temper, which was unusual, was a sign of withdrawal. Thankfully, that’s the only time that has happened in five months since I first met him. Every time that my parents leave us alone, it gets harder to keep the distance and keep myself from launching into his arms—which I now dream of every night without fail.

I go downstairs to the sitting room and everyone is there, watching TV and laughing. I don’t bother changing anymore because Etim has seen me many times in my house outfit, I’m certain he’s used to it. I refuse to agree with myself that a part of me is happy to flaunt my body. Etim spots me first and gives me a smile that I believe is specially reserved for me—he leans his head on his shoulder, looks at me then smiles. I smile back and as usual, I go to hug my dad.

“Adim, baby.” He rubs my back. Then I kiss Val and my mum. 

“Nothing for me?” Etim mouths, stretching his arms. I shake my head and that’s when I see that the only space available is beside Etim. Are my parents trying to set me up with him? Do they need me to leave their house that badly? I reluctantly sit beside Etim and I’m sure he moves towards me.

As expected, my family has disappeared. It usually starts with my mum and dad saying they want to rest, and then Val remembers her homework, very easily—every single time. I’ve tried to run many times in cases like this, but Etim chooses those moments to ask a question. It’s a bit of a dilemma for me—wanting so badly to kiss my boss. Maybe today is the right time to discuss my employment. I could be more serious if only my parents stopped giving me the monthly allowance that I barely spent.

Etim and I are still sitting together. He seems engrossed in the TV show, I’m anything but. I wish we weren’t sitting so close to each other. He didn’t seem so close some minutes ago, now, I can turn and sniff his woody scent. I should be thinking of how to discuss working at the bakery. I form the sentence in my mind and derail into thoughts of Etim. He likes to wear blue. Maybe because he knows it suits him. He’s wearing shorts and a vintage shirt today. I used to think his traditional attire was what got me so attracted to him but he’s worn different outfits and if anything, the crush has only gotten more intense. I need a job.

“Umm,” I clear my throat and turn on the chair. Etim is so close to me and already facing me. So I forget everything that I want to say. “I want to work under you,” I mumble.

Etim is wise enough to not allow us to make the mistake of kissing. It doesn’t say much about me if I kiss my boss. Not that I have resumed work or even talked to him. I’m glad he pulls back because a screw is obviously loose in my head. Where are my parents and sister?! 

“You know, instead of working under me,” Etim says with a wink. “You could work with me as my wife. You manage the money, I manage the business. I don’t like numbers anyway.” He says all serious and gesticulating. What? His wife? I doubt I heard him correctly, blame my still-booting brain. He’s looking at me for a response. My future boss is testing my thinking skills and I’m failing. 

I realise I should answer him. Anything is better than nothing, so I mumble, again. Then he laughs. Awesome. My brain is fried here because… Why is my hand on his thigh? I snatch my hand away as if his thigh is a hot iron. 

“I can’t believe you are struggling to say something. Adim, this is not the time to be quiet. When your parents and sister are here, you talk loud and scream and laugh. When it’s me and you, you withdraw.” Is he serious?

“I just didn’t hear what you said. Also, we talk.” I say, then add petulantly, “We talk a lot.” Which is true. Somehow, with him, I almost have no sieve.

“What part did you not hear?” He asks, as calm as ever. I am about to answer when he continues, “Is it the bit of you not working under me?” He winks. A wink is what it is, a wink, almost like blinking an eye. My brain seems to think that a wink is more than that though. I squirm on our soft couch (which I named Coco) and prepare to talk. Not so fast. Etim continues. “Or was it when I said that we can work together as husband and wife? Oh! I see.” He starts laughing. He’s laughing but my ears are ringing. Did Etim really call me his wife? “You heard everything I said but the part of you managing the money is what has you in shock. Well, Adim, I don’t like numbers. Why stress about it when my partner can handle it?” 

Yes, Etim/ Mr Investor/ my potential boss just referred to me as his wife. An emotion rises to my throat and I can’t quite grasp it. Is it anger? Is it the casual way he talks about something so serious? Is it fear?

“Adim, please talk. Now I’m getting worried.” I agree, I should talk. I’m an adult after all.

“But,” I attempt to talk and it comes out weak. I try again and it’s better this time. “But I can’t marry my boss.” Now, Etim laughs. He laughs for what seems like hours. I roll my eyes.

“Babe, I don’t want to be your boss.” I knew it! He can see that I’m going to sink the company.

“I deserve a chance at least,” I say, sulking.

“Aww. What are you saying?” Honestly, I have a million contrasting emotions all at once. Fear. Arousal. Excitement. Sadness. You name it. I think I need a hug.

“You are canceling me without even confirming that I’m a good fit for the job. I have some work experience.” 

“Wait.” Etim answers.

“In the US, during and after my master’s degree, I worked as an accountant.” I stubbornly continue.

“Adim, wait.”

“It’s in my CV.”

“Hey,” Etim shakes me. This stops me. “I wasn’t talking about your skills or you not being enough. I want you to be my wife. Then we can run the company together. I’m convinced that it’s a job meant for the both of us to do.” He looks down and adds, “Almost like your parents did.” I wipe at the tears in my eyes and notice Etim’s finger stroking my arm. I nestle into his chest. Classic! Now I’ve ruined every chance of working under my boss.

“But we’re not even dating yet,” I whisper. I sound like the spoilt child that my relatives claim I am.

“Then let’s fix that, be my fiance.” He says. I sniff.

“I’m not ready for marriage yet. I’m sorry.”

“Okay okay.” He says, sounding scared. For the first time, I really allow myself to look at Etim and I see that he’s scared. Beneath his calm demeanour, it’s there. As if… He’s scared of losing something. Oh dear! Etim is scared! He’s looking at his knees and picking an invisible lint from his shorts. 

“Etim?” He’s quiet. I wipe the silly tears in my eyes and shake him as he did to me some minutes ago. “Etim?”

“Look, Adim, I love you! There! I said it! I’m sorry, maybe it’s rude, but I love you.” He sighs and straightens his shoulders. It’s my turn to be silent but I do something different. I lift his chin so that he can look at me, “I love you too.” He breaks into a relieved smile and hugs me. Let me correct that, he almost crushes my ribs. I smile. Better to have a broken rib from a hug than from driving. I sniff and see a shadow around the stairs. I raise my head and hear my sister whispering.

“Dad! Mum! Val!” I scream. They all start laughing as Val whispers, “go go go.” Etim starts laughing too.

“So, will you be my girlfriend or fiance?” He looks at me.

“You know what? Let’s just say we’re romantic partners. Let’s start from there.”

“Call me old school, but this is a monogamous relationship, right?”

“Sure! Just me and you.” At this, his frown disappears.

“Just me and you.” He whispers, entangling our fingers and I can’t explain how we got here—from me spilling his drink on him to him asking me out. It’s been over five months coming.

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26 thoughts on “28, Clumsy & Clueless”

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  2. Тест на темперамент

    Кто ты есть на самом деле? В чем твое предназначение?

    В каком направлении лежит твой путь и как тебе по нему идти?

    Дизайн Человека расскажет об этом!

    – Даёт ощущение целостности – Уменьшает внутренние конфликты –
    Позволяет жить в согласии со своей природой – Даёт опору на природные механизмы – Даёт право быть собой –
    Позволяет жить в согласии со своей
    природой – Позволяет жить в согласии со своей
    природой – Даёт конкретные рекомендации
    по принятию решений – Даёт опору на природные механизмы

    Всего есть четыре типа (манифесторы, генераторы,
    проекторы, рефлекторы) людей на
    планете и у каждого из них есть стратегия принятия решения.

  3. Саморазвитие умственное нравственное и практическое

    Кто ты есть на самом деле? В чем
    твое предназначение? В каком направлении лежит твой путь и как тебе по
    нему идти?
    Дизайн Человека расскажет об этом!

    – Позволяет выстроить эффективную стратегию жизни и карьеры
    – Приносит чувство согласия с
    собой – Даёт опору на природные механизмы
    – Даёт ощущение целостности
    – Уменьшает внутренние конфликты – Позволяет выстроить эффективную стратегию жизни и карьеры – Помогает понять свои природные таланты и способности – Даёт конкретные рекомендации по принятию решений – Уменьшает внутренние конфликты

    Узнать свое предназначение и таланты.
    Эта методика предлагает человеку глубоко
    познать себя — дизайн человека делит все личности на типы.

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