Fiction 90

“You said you’d call me right back!” she pouts.

“You understand the meaning of relative, right?”

“Of course I do!”

“It doesn’t mean your uncle, my uncle, kind of relative.” he laughs.

“Stop messing with my head. I know what relative means. It means when something is considered in relation or in proportion to something else.” she says, trying hard not to smile.

“Arrey wah! So you do know! When I said “right back” it was a relative term.”

“Yes I know! Anyway, I have so much to do, I have got to go to the beauty parlour also.”

*After he chuckles for a good five minutes*

“What parlour?” he repeats

“The beauty parlour”

“You’re so funny, ra. Beauty parlour it seems! Normal people just say salon or the parlour or something, you know.”

“Well, am not normal. I am a small town girl at heart, I will continue to say beauty parlour, and gape out of plane windows until I turn 60.”

“And am hoping to hold your hand, while you do.” he smiles. “Now smile.”




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