Adun.

And how she went on a date with malaria drug.

Hello, my wonderful newsletter audience. Today, my friend Adun, is here to tell us about the one time she went on a date with malaria drug. Yes, malaria drug.

I met this guy-let's call him Emeka-on Twitter space. Although his display picture didn't bear his face, I just knew he was fine from his voice. At some point, I stopped listening to what he was actually saying and focused on his voice. If you people heard him too, you'd agree with me that God dey create.

I was genuinely sad when the discussion ended because I wanted to keep hearing his voice, but we gather dey.

The next day, I woke up to a text from Emeka. In my dm. Is my God not a great God?

We sha started talking, and he wasn't like those wyd warriors that will be sending comrade stickers to make up for their empty heads.

Something that I found very attractive was that he used words that I had to go and google their meanings so casually. I don't know how to explain it, it was just attractive.

After like a month that we started talking, he asked me if I'd like to meet up and go on a date. I first did “I'll check my schedule” but I was already planning outfits in my head. It's over for everybody.

The day finally came, and I woke up early to prepare myself for the date and any other extra activities that might take place.

Najwa, stop looking at me like that.

As I was saying, after many hours of ransacking Pinterest, I finally chose a dress. I didn't want it to look like I was doing too much so I kept my makeup minimal. Natural baddie, purrr

I got to the restaurant, just scanning the environment, sitting pretty and waiting for the soon to be love of my life.

After about ten minutes, he walked in. I checked him out from his haircut, check. His minimalist gold chain, check. His expensive looking shirt, check. And-

Wetin be this? Skinny jeans? Ye.

Najwa, it's not funny.

This man was wearing Yellow skinny jeans! On our first date!

I say let me not say anything, maybe that's the new aesthetic. He apologized for being late, and he ordered food for the both of us. We were eating and conversing steadily when he asked me the one billion dollar question that men seen to have on the tips of their tongues every single time.

“What do you bring to the table?”

Maybe I wouldn't have been so offended if he looked decent, but how will Lumaterm be asking me what I bring to the table? Which table? Table wey I fit sell? She fe pa mi ni? Kuku kill me.

Me I didn't reply him after that o, oloun maje. Make I go date Lumaterm? Emi soft babe? Abeg.

The only fictional parts of this post are the names. Somewhere out there, that guy is still roaming about. With his yellow skinny jeans.