The Single Girl Diary (Part Five) Written By MIMI ADEBAYO

In Nigeria, it is said that women don’t like to think they are aging. That we avoid talking about getting older. That theory, I’ve always believed, is subjective.

For example, a thirty-three year old woman with a husband, three kids and a successful business would certainly not mind throwing her age around like a trophy. She would gladly make statements like ‘at thirty-three and after three kids, my husband still finds me attractive.’...

Basically, her age is something she’d want people to know because she feels she’s achieved something impressive.

But check another woman, who’s aged thirty-three too, unmarried and doing pretty good for herself. She would do everything she can to hide her age or her achievements because what people consider the most important achievement for a woman her age is missing.

The same goes for my sister and I. Even though I had gotten snatched up first, T.Y had eventually gotten married before me. The day of her wedding, I had almost run away literally, because I didn’t think I could handle being her chief bridesmaid.

I was worn with envy and resentment. How could she plan a wedding when I hadn’t yet fully recovered from mine? She knew everything I had gone through the previous year, she knew the effect weddings had on me as a result, yet she couldn’t wait to walk to the altar the moment I didn’t?

I knew my thoughts were selfish but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help clenching my fists whenever I saw her with her groom, smiling into each other’s eyes like they saw gold in them.

I was glad she was happy but I hated the fact she was happy when I wasn’t.

I had initially declined when she picked me to be her bridesmaid.

‘You can’t say no, Kay. You’re my sister! My twin, for God’s sake!’ she had said.

She was right, especially since only a year ago, our positions had been reversed.

Even when I agreed to do it, I shivered at the thought of walking down the aisle but not as a bride. As the bride’s sidekick.

And so I had almost run away before the church service began that day, it was Ronke who caught me and shook sense into me.

T.Y lived on the other side of Lagos with her doctor husband, but she made out time to come see me when she could. When she showed up at my school on Wednesday just after closing hours, I was pleased to see her.

Looking into her face was like looking into a happier version of me.

‘How are you?’ she asked, after we had hugged.

‘I’m great actually. Guess who I ran into on Saturday?’

‘Um…Jesus?’

‘Haha. Very funny. Anyway, it was Biyi.’

She frowned, ‘Biyi who?’

‘From Senator’s house that time now.’

‘Ah, Biyi the Booker?’

‘Exactly!’ I laughed at the nickname. We had called him that because he was always with a book.

‘Oh my God, where did you see him?’

‘Shoprite. I invited him to my party on Saturday. You’re coming, right?’

T.Y hesitated, before answering and I had a feeling I knew what her answer was going to be.