The Night The Devil Used Me

It’s not that I eat too much. It’s just that I eat too much of what is bad.

I feel like I’m lost in the middle of the sea. I am drowning, weak, calling for help, but just before I take my last breath, a ship approaches out of nowhere and saves me.

On the ship, I am received by heaps of freshly made meatpies, doughnuts, hamburgers and cakes, and as I shudder, trying to get dry, the sailor asks ‘would you like anything?’ In order not be rude, and for that reason alone, I agree to have a taste . . . of everything. And just to show how much I appreciate the sailor, I’ll have one of each to go. The way I see it, it is the pastries that directed the sailor to me. The pastries save my life.

The issue is that I’m drowning in the middle of the sea, every day.

So when my clothes started to fight back, I knew my dry cleaner must be moving mad. Or how else would you explain why all my clothes were shrinking? They started to squeeze me like I was owing them money. So little by little, I replaced my clothes for shirts three sizes bigger, because no matter what my dry cleaner did, there will be plenty space for me in there. I ignored my growing belle for months. Surely, I must be bloated. And when people asked if I was getting fatter, I would tell them to mind their business.

One night, I lay on my bed, half-naked, caressing my pregnant belle. And that was the first time I noticed. My pant was tearing. The hem at the two sides had ridden up till all that was holding it was the string at the top. That night, I had a nightmare that I expanded so much I couldn’t enter a vehicle. No matter the distance to be covered, I would be rolled like a carpet to my destination. I would cry as the rough Lagos roads would pierce my skin all over and I would come home to nurse my injuries, every day. When I woke up, I could still feel the bruises.

And so I changed. I started a strict diet of smoothies and salads. I registered at a gym. I didn’t eat anything once it hit 7pm. I felt better and lighter. You see, I realized that everything was in my mind. I have control over what I eat. Pastries got nothing on me.

So tell me why I got home last night after a very stressful day and while flicking through my TV, I stopped on the Food Channel. Tell me why I suddenly remembered that I had flour, butter and sugar somewhere in my kitchen. Tell me why I had patience to bake a glorious 8 inch, vanilla sponge cake. But most importantly, tell me why my baking pan is empty and my stomach is full.

If you can’t think of the answer, here it is. It was the devil.

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P.S. This story is about you.