From The Archives...

(Another iPod find)

From time to time, people ask me questions that cause me pause. Granted these questions range from the daft “When are you getting married” (When you take Minding Yo Business free online course) to the justified like "What the hell are you doing here?!" when I once again get lost and land on private property (surprisingly frequent occurrence). Still, from time to time I receive an inquiry
so disturbing that I myself a forced to ponder....


Recently such an inquiry was posed, it didn't arrive hiding under the
banner of concern or the giggling shackles of jest, this was a genuinely curious inquiry. The questioner wanted to know Why I am the way I am. With the number of
times I have been asked this you would think I'd have a ready answer
for the pseudo-intellectual minds clearly struggling to dissect this conundrum of a matter. I am usually tempted to repeat some banal lines from Angelou’s
extraordinary ‘Pheomenal Woman’ poem but the mockery I fear I will see in the eyes of my questioner when I get to this line “...its in the span of my hips..” bids me pause. #WiderHipsWanted.

(Btw, I am typing this on my iPod on the train and a deaf lady is sign language-ing her husband across the carriage. I just realised that if you are hearing impaired,
gossiping in public might be a tad difficult. I’m sad for them, it kind of sucks...as that's one of the special things about marriage, a constant gossip partner. I can’t wait! Lol.).

iDigress.

“So, why am I the way I am?” I thought to myself after the inquiries became insistent. I believe the closest thing to an answer I can give is; my childhood. Seriously, what were my chances of coming out a regular human being when at the age of eight (8), I was lead backing vocalist of the ‘choir’, consisting of one disturbingly silly 6 year old, mischievous 4 and a tyrannical two? We proudly croaked along to our uncle-turned -rapper’s (eventually turned cultist) terribly mediocre ramblings of daily happenings at our house, uncleverly disguised as rhymes. No, 50 Cent is NOT my uncle.