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Margaret Thatcher

Being employed in a new generation company is
not beans like my college roommate would say.
I stared into the small plastic mirror I had in my
palm and smacked my lips together to smear
my red lipstick well.
I stood up and tucked in my shirt properly.
Hips!
Check!
Butt!
Check!
Boobs!
Check! Check!
‘Good to go, girl!’ I breathed to myself and
winked.
I bent to my Louis Vuitton handbag and took my
Galaxy Tab. All thanks to the great lighting in the
office, a single click and a fabulous picture of me
splashed over the device’s screen.
I smiled, remembering what my grandmother
used to say that people look their best under an
air conditioner.
I peered through the window blinds and saw
Dave, smart as always in his crisp black suit,
coming in. A handsome twenty-eight-year-old
nobody would disagree is too young to be our
Head of Operations.
I have been trying to get his attention for the
past one month he resumed work with us, but
this has proved just as hard as finding a virgin
guy in Port Harcourt.
Anyways, today na today!
I trotted off down the corridor across the other
side of the office to trade corporate banter with
some of my colleagues, and possibly present
myself in Dave’s full glare while at it since his
office is just beside theirs.
As I turned to cross the hall, my eyes fell on her
and my legs froze immediately.
The monster was right on time.
“Good morning, ma!” I managed, nearly giving a
maid-like bow.
“Ehen,” she replied.
Greetings are meant to be exchanged with
smiles, but she barely even looked at me, not to
mention smiling.
I turned and watched her walk down to her
office with so much
grace and charm.
She was Margaret Thatcher, my boss. Young,
extremely beautiful and fear-inspiring.
I shrugged my shoulders and continued with my
mission before she‘d come out again.
At noon, we had a meeting with some
prospective investors. Dave handled the
presentation and it was amazing. Of course
everything about him always usually is.
The men agreed to invest and promised to start
transactions the following week.
We were still in the euphoria of the great news
when my phone rang out in its signature
ringtone—Adele’s Hello.
Hello, it's me,
I was wondering if after all these years you'd
like to meet
To go over everything
They say that time's supposed to heal, yeah
But I ain't done much healing…
I cut the call immediately and on instinct looked
up at Madam.
She had a look close to disgust on her face.
“You should learn to leave your phone on silent
mode at times like this!” she spat out. “And that
ringtone of yours is horrible!”
I looked at her again, wondering if it was just
the call alone that had made her look so
angered.
I shook my head. No, I whispered in my mind.
There’s got to be more to it.
Perhaps she envied my new blazer or sexy bun
hairstyle.
Or maybe she had noticed that I like Dave…
maybe we both have our eyes on the same
candy.
Whatever! I nearly rolled my eyes.
A girl has got to do what a girl has got to do.
Friday morning! Blazing fluorescent lighting, air-
conditioned office and the feeling of having the
weekend at just the bridge of my nose had my
mood in sugar-coated packets.
‘TGIF!’ I yelped and I settled down in my office.
I was about starting to meditate on how to
spend the weekend when the door came open
and she walked in.
“Abigail, please am not feeling too well today, I
need you to help me work on some files in my
office,” she said.
“I will be right with you, ma,” I said, starting to
rise immediately.
I followed her and all the while kept asking
myself, “Did Madam Margret Thatcher just say
please?”
Hmm…the heavens must smile today!
In her wide and exquisite office, she showed me
what to do and left.
I had typed for a while when I realized that I
had deleted the wrong file.
I quickly clicked on the Recycle Bin to restore
the file and saw that Madam had deleted a lot
of images.
My curiosity grabbing a better part of me, I
restored all the files in the Bin and started to
open them one after another.
They were pictures of her and a young man.
He looked dapper and cute and with a very sexy
smile.
She had deleted over a hundred pictures of
them together.
I leaned back into the seat and began to
calculate.
Madam had had to delete so many pictures of
her with a man—a fine sexy ass of a man— and
hated my ringtone, Adele’s Hello. Hmm. It all
smelt like a love story gone sour to me.
Eyaah.
Madam Margret Thatcher was obviously
heartbroken.
She was not made of steel after all.
I picked my phone at once and changed my
ringtone to Beyonce’s Irreplaceable.
To the left, to the left
Everything you own in the box to the left
In the closet that's my stuff
Yes, if I bought it, please don't touch, don’t
touch…
***

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I have admired you since the day I knew you
Work has to get better but don't ever try to change you.
Lots of love
Dele.

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