LAGOS LIGHTS is a new brew of coffee I invented. It isn’t much- in making, but it is a great deal in taste and and aromé. All it takes to fix a cup of Lagos Lights is a scoop of robusta, half a scoop of arabica, a wedge of grapefruit, and a scoop of sugar if desired. No milk and no cream, please.
If you cannot access freshly roasted beans like I do, use instant coffee. And If you use instant, use the real thing, use the Nestlé brand, thank you.
And don’t forget to steer well of decafe. Decaffeinated coffee is a no-no. There is no sin greater than the use of decaffeinated coffee. Only fakes and bad imitations use decafe.
I will tell you about this fake: he pronounces it “cough fee” making it sound like something your doctor will prescribe for bad lungs and bad judgment. This guy who is a #BadImitation of me is worse off than decafe and those inferior brands of instant coffee that taste like paracetamol.
Why he tries so hard to copy my style is something I cannot boast to be at home with. In this day when people distinguish themselves, defining where they belong and how they stand in the tussle for supremacy between the progressives and conservatives, I belong nowhere. This brings me to the question- why do people follow people when they don’t know where people are headed? I think everyone should move their heads in the direction of their hearts, or follow with their hearts where their heads lead. However they do, I say people should just go- like I want this bad imitation of me to just go his own away; he his too much of a dark shallow to be trolling after me.
See how he casts a glum over my light spirit when he start to mimicking me, messing up my style and making a monkey of the thing i like to do. When I vacate a seat- whether to pass water or get some stuff or the other- by the time I return, this bad imitation of me will be occupying my space. His own cup or mug of coffee will be sitting in front of him; his legs will be crossed at the knees as I do naturally. I am not sure anyone else notices, but this development gets me miffed at him all the time. How could be so comfortable being a fake? Ughhh!
There is this unnatural drawl I like to inflect into the tone of my voice when communicating on the walkie-talkie. Scarcely anybody does that at all. I do it a lot, and this imitation of me dude does it a lot too. I hate it when he begins to enrich that baritone of his with a cowboy drawl. He make my own drawl sound like a school girl’s whine or like Mickey Mouse’s hysterics.
He has pink lips and I have black ones. Maybe he hasn’t noticed, he would have darkened his own lips with shoe polish to make them look like mine.
Yes, I will give him that: he has a attributes-to-die-for grace. He has a set of rippling six-pack while I have potting belly; he has a chest that look like a open bible, while I have flabby breasts. I will not grudge him his attributes, neither will I exchange what I have for what he has.
God, let him go and do his own thing and get out of my space. He does not have to walk my walk or talk my talk or fart my fart. There is enough talent in everyone and enough space on the world stage for we all to strut our stuffs. I am myself imitating Jesus- doing what Jesus would do; a conscious man would not imitate an imitation. Abi?
I could use one less shadow messing up spotlight
PS: The next time you are served a cup of espressos, sneak in a dash of citrus juice. I tell you, no Bad Imitation, not even NEPA, can quench your Lagos Lights