The Flip Side of Memory

Posted by Oyinlola Sobowale on Thursday, January 30, 2014 in Poetry, something close to funny | 6 comments

Black and Brown; the only colours of suit.

It’s my final and major stage of interview after the innumerable series of minis going through the chimney. I’m standing in the largest of offices, five seconds gone by still no words uttered.

Suddenly a motion of arms directing me to the far corner of the room.

I take my seat on the plum chair, sitting straight and poised as every proper lady should.

Looking straight at Francis Dubois, the CEO of a French Conglomerate, wishing for a minute I had his chair and title.

“Impress me,” he said finally in a heavily accented drawl.

“Je veux avoir des relations sexuelles avec vous sur la table,” I blurted the first French words that came to mind.

Shock. Bewilderment. Several expressions crossed his svelte face. Then he pressed the bell that ushered in the lady in red. This time he didn’t even gesture he only bellowed…”out”!

(The third word I heard him utter all morning).

The lady in red sprang into action and led me all the way to the ground floor reception. A quick and somewhat shameful dismissal despite my arduous preparations.

(Sighs)…I’m back on the street barely twenty minutes after my first sign-in(g).

Then amidst the chatter of all the passers-by, realisation struck!

It dawned on me that I remembered the wrong French words!

He smiled. She smiled.

It’s their first night cap after a thousand cancelled

Wine & Music, maybe a little strip-tease

He’s 35 today; some six months after their ‘intro’ and six months to their ‘main day’

He’s head over heels in love with the most decent and hardworking of ladies

A near virgin at thirty, (except for the one time she was raped at twenty)

He knows she’s asked them to wait till the ‘D-day’ but they already had the ‘pre-day’

She is his now before a few family and friends. She will be his soon before God and a few priests. So….maybe just a little sample before the golden ring?

Ever so gently and sensuously he placed the first kiss,

Near her lobe somewhere in between coherence and ecstasy…

He touched her very core and drank of her sweet nectar

On and on it went then she called out in the throes of passion….”Dambasky! Dambasky! My Dambasky”

Shock. Bewilderment. Several expressions crossed his svelte face.

She called out the wrong name, only it was not an unfamiliar one but his uncle’s pet name!


(writer's note- The French words, "Je veux avoir des relations sexuelles avec vous sur la table" actually translate in English, "I want to have sex with you on the table").