I think you will spend 96 seconds reading this post
Becquerel has clothes… Many clothes.
She came with clothes, she met clothes and the clothes are still coming. The blessedness of being the ‘last born’.
Problem is, our detachable wardrobe was not designed to accommodate the clothes of three females. Nay. In fact, it could barely cater for two.
So, Becquerel’s clothes were stuffed into a box, hanging from the wall, stuffed into an overflowing bag, hanging on hangers… Everywhere.
It is so bad, I can actually imagine the news headline, “Three Teenagers (Including my Dr. self) Suffocated to Death by Clothes”.
“Becquerel, you have too many clothes. I think you should give out some.”
Mum told her these children she would be giving to are omo alaini (poor children), Becquerel still refused.
Then I decided on another tactic.
“Becquerel, you either find a way to arrange these clothes or we throw them away and burn them.”
“Ehn, okay. Okay, wait now. I will give omo alaini… N100 for each clothe.”
Did she not understand what poor children meant?
And please don’t tell me, “she has a business mind” yen yen yen.
*** In Our Family ***
Once upon a time, when fish was cut in our house, the tail was always the biggest.
And who gets the biggest fish? Daddy.
But who needs more protein? The children.
But who gets the biggest fish? Daddy.
I don’t know when the transition began but soon enough, the tail started shrinking in size. And we kept giving daddy the tail.
Isn’t fish tail equal to daddy’s fish?
Not until daddy cried out, “I don’t want the tail, aren’t there bigger ones?”, did we offer him other parts of the fish.
Now, nobody fights for the fish tail. The target now is the head… That’s the one that currently gets into the stew big in size and quality.
We shall continue rotating it. Hm.