They pervade the streets. They pervert the sees. As they cascade their rumps, they pollute the flesh. They are straight and slim; others are plump and weighted. Some are dark, others white. And as you know, some are heavenly; others devilish.

They are everywhere. You find their presence in the classrooms, nothing changes – foundation has obliterated all the blemishes and you think you’ve just descried a goddess. What is this thing called? Bombom or something…really can’t remember. You know that thing that stands boldly underneath – that makes you think the backside big like whale. And what is this other one, that makes the front stands firm like the fist of an aggrieved hubby? That “foam b…” or something…you know, it makes you think the boops are some heaven materials you can’t resist holding tight. Journey down the path, and all your hopes are dashed in a flinching moment. Did you say fine girl?

They are overly present. Their obtrusive smells are evident in the library: you have just left Mariere to study but the fair fresh laps just wouldn’t let you comprehend. Sometimes, hunger has destroyed the minutest palpability of strength, yet she walks up to you and you can’t resist saying yes to her request of chicken and chips. In a mo, you have forgotten you need to finish up that chapter on Equity. Soon, exams knock and you are sure of nothing but an “F” – your career blinks. Yet you say fine girl?

They are beautiful. They are expensive. They are always around the corners of Love Garden in times when you strain your eyes to see your partner. They debauch the cozy availability of Lagoon Front’ and those hide-and-seek environments in Bus. Admin and Sciences happen to be their favourite hang-outs. They sit next to you in class and it takes the special ministration of the Holy Spirit before you are able to notice the stupendously obtrusive lecturer behind the board, because your eyes have been inadvertently glued to the free exhibition going down beneath the table. They are ready to take you to any length. Yet, unfortunately, many will see, but only few will feel it.

Did you say fine girls? They are those set of creatures that you just can’t do without, except you are like me. You just finished confession and she traipses past your skinny trousers. In a moment, all your repentance is vitiated. You just made a New Year resolution that you will stick to only your babe, but she just comes to see you in your room and all you could say is: “rules are meant to be broken. I will make amends.”
Fine girls? There exists no way that you will visit the wontedly hot 2001 cafeteria and you won’t see how some poor bloke who hides under some borrow-borrow garb lavishes his monthly allowance in a single outing. Stroll down to red brick and you will wail for the guys whose discipline have failed them and they have squandered class contribution on a girl of which friendship they are not even sure. Fine girls, they even visit the not-too-toosh iya monkele at Jaja complex. They have no other business, dry your pocket in their acrimonious sun, and their market iyav sale.
Fine girls, indeed! How I love the expression: many are called few are chosen: because it tells me that like the word “love”, the base meaning of fine girl has been debased and even she whose pitches have been broken down to inconceivable units, claims to be a congruent recipient of the stamp. Civilization has brought the harm of transformation, and there better no time than now when the mantra: marry a girl whose beauty lies in the demeanour; and not she whose beauty ends on the phiz.
Until I got to Unilag, I didn’t really understand the expediency of that wise-saying.



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