The exhibition-some excuse to escape the bore of a weekend. I enjoyed it anyway. Even on a Sunday, there's still some lock-up on the freeway. The cousin-the only other passenger in the vintage 1992 Honda Accord-is bored stiff. He wonders If I'm ever going to get around fixing the only source of entertainment in the contraption but I see no sense in handing out cash to some crooked artisan who'll only make sure the only thing he fixes is the need for me to visit him again.

Some horn blaring. I'm used to it now. After all, I wouldn't want to feel like I'm driving through a cemetery. I'm patiently waiting for those afore to sort out whatever issue it is they have with themselves. My patience runs out and I decide to shift lanes. At that same moment, some telepathic, bluetoothy instinct urges her to make a move too, at a higher speed though. It's a CLEAN, black Infiniti...mine's not clean, but like I mentioned earlier, it's vintage. But why do I bother to use that word? No one seems to appreciate it around here. I'm now on the right lane.

Infiniti moves in front of me and double-cross-style, cuts in front of me and promptly scrapes Accord...I'm not so concerned, it's steel against synthetic, and it happens everyday. But I'm appalled that Infiniti doesn't even balk-the kind of impunity that has gotten the nation to its present state. Cousin revs to life-"Follow Her". I promptly do so...Schumacher must be jealous. Infiniti stops. Accord stops. Miss Infiniti disembarks, (now I know what "Follow Her" meant, Cousin is not plagued by myopia like me) but only to check if Infiniti was hurt. I am hurt. Miss struts back to Infinti, her caresses sort of assured her Infiniti wasn't hurt. I am bruised. I waited for her to get into the saddle. Then I volunteered "What happened?"

Bold-faced but meekly, she offered "What do you mean "what happened"?" Is it my head doing things to me or did I hear that much guilt underneath that sweet voice? Then she disembarks again, this time to give us some attention and then I could see the rest...really pretty, nice Short Brown Dress to complement the Fabulous Petite Anatomy. Did I mention the hairdo? The cousin later gave me the name-'Single Ladies' (I thought that was just a song!) We both advocate dissimilar versions of events that brought us together and afterward, agreed that we need not create any fuss, since no damage was done. Then, Miss Infiniti tried to throw me off balance, saying "So, you were going to blame me?" Dear Dear Cousin, who'd been behind me, promptly offered on my behalf "Noooooooooo, WE wouldn't do that, WE were the ones that switched lanes". By the way, he only "drives auto transmission cars" so I'm still tried to figure out where "WE" came from. I'm shell-shocked at first but the Boy Scout in me got me my balance back.

I looked from cousin to Miss Infiniti as If to seek the latter's help in getting the cousin back to my side. Before I could mutter whatever it was I was going to say, the cousin AGAIN offered " So, it's a pleasure to meet you". From the huge glint in his eyes to the Cheshire-cat grin, I could tell that the "pleasure" was HUGE. I made a mental note to remind him next time to add the adjective. From behind me, his long hand made its way past me to Miss Infiniti "So, what's your name?". "Tanwa". Ummmmm, my aunt's name. Not very common. Okay. Cousin offered his name but forgot the rest of his lines...which should have been something like "So, can I have your number?". Ladies and Gentlemen, that was how I witnessed the first non-military disarmament in my civil life. I am making a mental note to contact the JTF, they will surely need the help of Tanwa in the Niger Delta...
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