What/Who is Ella, Emmanuella?

So I decided to โ€œlearnโ€ about myself on Urban Dictionary..


While writing my last blog post, I don’t know who sent me to go and look up my name on Urban Dictionary ๐Ÿ˜ฉ. Here are some screenshots:

The only thing inaccurate about his definition is the insecurity. And I don’t “make sure people are there for me” ๐Ÿ™„. I don’t expect people to be there for me, but I will be there for them regardless ๐Ÿ˜˜โ˜บ๏ธ.

Oh, I don’t have green eyes. They’re as brown as these ones: ๐Ÿ‘€.

What is inaccurate about this one ๐Ÿง? Again, the insecurity. What is it with the Ella’s these people know and insecurities ๐Ÿค”?

I don’t get angry easily ๐Ÿ˜•.

Kooky? ๐Ÿ™„ Really? Lord and only Lord and oh, wait, my lost diary sessions since my laptop crashed (๐Ÿ˜ฉ) know the truth about that one ๐Ÿ‘€. Bizarre ๐Ÿ™„? Talks too much? More like laughs too much ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚.

By the way, aside from whatever anyone says your name means or connotes, you define you; not anyone or anything else, not some algorithm somewhere. Don’t let things, circumstances or people define your identity for you ๐Ÿค—.

In the interim, please, gaan shehk your name on Urban Dictionary and let me know what it means according to pop culture ๐Ÿ˜‚!

Manny & the Brain – 20.03.18

One of those internal conversations..

Gets into a maruwa (tricycle) at night, going home from work..

Brain: Manuella, stop laughing for no reason, like an idiot โ˜น๏ธ.
Me: Leave me alone ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ™„.
Brain: You do realise that you’re the only passenger in the maruwa, no ๐Ÿ˜ฅ? And it’s an open vehicle; anyone can see you laughing with no one beside you ๐Ÿ˜ถ.
Me: Fine ๐Ÿ™„.
Brain: Lord, help me out here, please ๐Ÿ˜“โ˜น๏ธ.

Me: You know you luhhhhhhhhhh me ๐Ÿ˜ป๐Ÿ˜‚.
Brain: ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜.

I do have a lot of apologising to do, I know ๐Ÿ™ˆ๐Ÿ™Š. I’ve been MIA without notice and I haven’t put anything up in what now feels like forever ๐Ÿ™ˆ.

I don’t know from where I got the idea that I need to have a full-bodied (intro, body and conclusion) and lengthy write-up before I publish a post ๐Ÿ˜•. Beause I have loads of this kind of posts just sitting around!

Anyhoo, I’ve got more crazies than I can contain, and I’d love to share them with you ๐Ÿ˜ป (no, I’m not really lovestruck. I was just caught up in the moment ๐Ÿ‘€).

So, what I’m saying is that I should be doing more of these kinds of random (unplanned) posts ๐ŸŒ.

Watches the conductor sat beside me as he brushes his fingers past all the good 100 naira notes and hands me my change. One look at it and I hand it right back for him to change it. Me: O de wa owo to ti yani yakuya, o de gbe fun mi ๐Ÿ™„. O ti ri arindin ๐Ÿ˜’. (And he looked for money that was horrendously mutilated, and he gave it to me ๐Ÿ™„. He has seen a dunce ๐Ÿ˜’.)
Brain: ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚.
Me: It’s not funny o. Stop laughing ๐Ÿ™„.
Brain: ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ.
Me: ๐Ÿ™„๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚. Oh, Lord!

Ze End!

One Weird/ Typical/ Whatever Night Going Home..

What goes on in your mind when youโ€™re just watching life go by?

What kind of blogpost title is that even ๐Ÿ™„?

Abeg! Na you sabi ๐Ÿ˜’! Let me start my tale.

So this was the state of my mind going home one night..

While the driver of the yellow bus (danfo) was waiting at a bus stop to see if luck would be on his side and passengers would board, I spotted one woman walking by on the sidewalk. She has a very nice bum bum. Come, I donโ€™t say โ€œbum bumโ€; she has a nice bum, a nice ass. I hope sheโ€™s pregnant; that tummy is too big to be an ordinary pot. Sheโ€™s got a very nice bum tho. I like it.

Some minutes later, another woman was innocently walking on the side of the road. Ah, that woman has a nice bum. Itโ€™s very nice.

Since the driver was speeding like a demon (to my delight), I decided to help him check his back and his side. I should even help him check his back. That thing (his mirror) is not working.

I was writing and looked up, only to see a lot of people boarding the bus. These must be church people. Let me put my phone in one corner before they start to shine their eyes inside my phone. But Iโ€™m sitting by the window and thatโ€™s how those useless possessed animals roaming the road will come and snatch someoneโ€™s phone inside this hold up. Come sef, the one that is making loud phone call behind me and talking into my available ear ๐Ÿ™„. Nonsense and rubbish ๐Ÿ˜’. But I donโ€™t want to put my earphone in that ear ๐Ÿ˜ฉ.

The smell of shit snapped me out of my monologue. I looked up to see a LAWMA (waste management) truck on the other side of the road ๐Ÿ˜ฉ. Hโ€™o my goodneizz! Come, why are there so many people on the road these days ๐Ÿ™„.

From the moment those church people boarded the bus, I kept turning to my side to look at the guy that sat beside me when they boarded. I hope heโ€™s not looking at my phone. I mean, he shouldnโ€™t be able to see what Iโ€™m writing unless heโ€™s got microscopic eyes ๐Ÿ˜•. And why does he keep smiling? Whatโ€™s so funny ๐Ÿ˜•. After the last look I took at him, Ewo! Heโ€™s not smiling! His mouth is just positioned like that, with his teeth trying to say hi. Shoo! Nawa o!

After praying for a red bus (you see, youโ€™ve gotta love them if youโ€™re not a fan of sluggishness) and waiting at my connecting bus stop for one for less than five minutes, a white (coaster) bus turned up. Ijora, Ijora! Eii! This one is going to Costain ๐Ÿ˜•. So I got on it. After all, itโ€™s the same price as the red one. And itโ€™s normally not slow.

I kept looking back and saw a red bus halting to a stop right behind the bus I was in. And the bus I was in was already starting to move โ˜น๏ธ. Thatโ€™s how Iโ€™ll come down now, only for that red bus to be going to Yaba-Oyingbo ๐Ÿ˜•. Let me just stay on this one and hope it moves fast, instead of risking it and waiting for Lord knows how long before a Kpangroof-Onipanu-Ojuelegba-Stadium-Barrack-Costain one comes along โ˜น๏ธ.

So I stayed put and spent Lord knows how many minutes looking back and stretching my neck to see if that red bus was catching up yet. Good. Iโ€™m not even sure it was going to Costain. But this one (that Iโ€™m in) that is doing sme sme and driving as if the engine will die if he dares to move fast nko ๐Ÿ˜ฉ. Hโ€™o my goodneizz!

Minutes and some little traffic later, I looked back again. The red bus wasnโ€™t even in sight (it was far behind). Yass ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿพ๐Ÿ™Œ๐Ÿพ! But this one needs to move else weโ€™ll sleep on the road today ๐Ÿ˜ซ.

A few minutes later..

Nooooooooooooooo ๐Ÿ˜ซ๐Ÿ˜ญ. I said it! That red bus will eventually pass us ๐Ÿ˜ข. With the way these ones are moving as if they were told that their destiny is somewhere in between where they picked me up from and where theyโ€™re going ๐Ÿ˜’. Won ma ma rin bโ€™igbin (theyโ€™ll be moving like snails) ๐Ÿ˜’. Nonsense and rubbish. That red bus had better be going to Yaba-Oyingbo ๐Ÿ˜ซ.

A few minutes to my destinationโ€™s bus stop, the bus stopped at a stop and was starting to spend more than a few seconds there. Letโ€™s be going ๐Ÿ˜ฉ๐Ÿ˜ซ! Which kind of alakoba is this one gan ๐Ÿ™„!

After Lord knows how math minutes in total of whimpering here and there, I got to my penultimate stop; the one from which I get to my house ๐Ÿ˜ช.

Funny story, this is me every other day ๐Ÿ™Š.

Alright my lovelies! See you again soon ๐Ÿ˜˜! If youโ€™re seeing this, thank you for reading ๐Ÿ˜!

A very excited Manuella. xx

One Tuesday Morning..

When public transport that never works in your favour particularly targets you on a work morning

After waiting 20-something minutes at the bus stop for a red bus, my colleague whom I was sure must have left already gradually appeared in the distance. He had come to join me in the wait.

Some few minutes later, after internally contemplating taking a yellow bus (danfo) and ready to jump on the one that had just stopped in my front, my colleague snapped me out of my deliberation and flagged down a red bus. Yes! ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿพ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿพ A red bus finally turned up ๐Ÿ˜ญ! Ketu-Ojota-Mile12-Sabo-Koodu-GRA! ๐Ÿ˜ป๐Ÿ˜ป
The b
-more–>Ojota. Not a single moment of regret ๐Ÿ˜Œ.

Cross the overhead bridge to the other side and get on a connecting bus. No trouble. I do this everyday, no? Surely, God wonโ€™t let anyone spoil my joy this morning.

So I got on an unfortunately snail-ish connecting bus and a few minutes in: O ga o ๐Ÿ™„! Eleyi na ma tun bole ni Radio ๐Ÿ˜’ (So this one too will get off at Radio). After stopping at pretty much every bus stop on that seemingly infinite Kudirat Abiola road, the man who gently sat in my front got the glare of life from behind when he said he was going to stop at the first bus stop on the next road.

From that point on, people got off at nearly every stop ๐Ÿ˜ฉ.. until I heard a funny sound with different volumes and turned back to see my colleague swiftly move across the seat, away from the window. Have you heard when a pump is being played with and someone keeps letting air out and blocking the hose in short, quick successions? That was the sound. The bus gradually slowed down and, lo and behold, the tyre had gone flat ๐Ÿ™†๐Ÿพ. Completely flat ๐Ÿ˜.

What?! Me that has been complaining about the speed and about all the people getting off at all the bus stops since! The tyre now decides to go flat ๐Ÿ˜๐Ÿ™„! Which time am I not going to get to work late like this, o Lord ๐Ÿ˜ซ! Why, oh why ๐Ÿ˜ญ?

I started looking around to see what alternatives were nearby, since I was now only two stops away from my destinationโ€™s bus stop. The conductor took us to the nearest bus stop โ€” which was thankfully a few feet in front โ€” and got a bus to carry us all.

Until I got to my stop, I was thinking about how the conductor of the bus we were now in dared not ask us for money ๐Ÿ™„. After we had paid 100 naira for the entire journey, that one will now ask us to pay 50 naira again ๐Ÿ™„. Nonsense and rubbish. As if we were the ones who deflated the tyre. Mschew.

So I heard my bus stop and I said โ€œO waโ€. I got down and kept a steady side eye in case I heard โ€œOwo da?โ€ ๐Ÿ™„. Money ko! Na me say make tyre buss for road? Or una no sabi una sef ๐Ÿ˜’.

Whew! I looked at the time; 08:05. ๐Ÿ˜ฎ๐Ÿ˜ƒ chei!! I cannot believe it!! God, thank you o!

Next stop: the entrance of the office estate gate. Bikes waiting: 0 ๐Ÿ˜ฒ. Maruwas ready to go: loading โ˜น๏ธ. ๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ญ๐Ÿ˜ซ๐Ÿคฆ๐Ÿพโ€โ™€๏ธ Manuella, give up. Last last, youโ€™ll be 10 minutes late.

Whew! Thatโ€™s it for now guys ๐Ÿ˜. Thanks for reading ๐Ÿ˜˜!

Returning to Naija – One Year On..

The weather has simply refused to accommodate my skin

It’s been an exact year since I returned to Naija from the UK. My body is still not used to the Nigerian heat ๐Ÿ˜. Within minutes or a few feet of even hurriedly walking, I sweat as if I’d just finished a one-hour hellishly intensive gym session.

I carried hand fans (notice the plural there) around โ€” and supplemented those with a face towel โ€” in my first few months back. I used to religiously use the sunscreen spray I bought in surplus when I was coming back. This is a year later and I’m still carrying the same hand fan I used to carry. In fact, I’ve had to re-tack the straws around the poor thing. 

I’ve added another fan to my collection to replace the one that got lost one full-handed, scorching late afternoon in November 2016. I’m still thinking of buying another one of those foldable fans โ€” I donโ€™t know what theyโ€™re called.

When the power goes out, I mentally start panicking because I know my face is about to start melting, whether or not I have makeup on ๐Ÿ˜ซ. Sometimes, the power doesnโ€™t even need to go out. The air con just needs to be running on a low current and my face will start oozing oil ๐Ÿ˜ข. I spend the most part of my days at work and visibly in air con. But before noon, my face is so oily I look as if I’ve been in the kitchen all morning ๐Ÿ™„.

Travelling to and from work and everywhere in between and outside is an oil and sweat bath ๐Ÿ˜ฉ. Before I get halfway to work, my forehead is so oily. I’m constantly and now unconsciously wiping away at my cheeks and nose, trying to dull the shine ๐Ÿ˜ญ!

I hate powders and padding my face with all sorts. My daily makeup routine doesnโ€™t go beyond my signature eyebrows, my eyeliner and my mascara, which is even occasional. So to start worrying about layering my face all in the name of controlling the oilfest is a headache I wouldnโ€™t even wish on my enemies ๐Ÿ˜ซ.

Interestingly though, foundation was a part of my signature look while I was in uni and I think that was the norm for about two years. The closest I had to an oily face was 7/8 pm, when I’d done my face up since 7 am. But here, ๐Ÿ˜ฉ h’o my goodneizz!! If my face doesnโ€™t look like a greased frying pan, itโ€™s not me ๐Ÿ˜ข.

Itches? ๐Ÿ™‹๐Ÿพ My body is just too familiar with the feeling ๐Ÿ˜ฉ! When I’m out, or wherever even and power is out, โ˜น๏ธ I could start itching if it feels stuffy. It’s like power outage is signal for my facial pores and neck pores to start oozing with liquid ๐Ÿ˜ฉ. When I go around with my hand fan, even while standing on the road waiting for a bus, or on a bike, those around joke about my being hot, but they just donโ€™t know! So I just laugh with them.

Do you know what makes all this particularly so for me? My body overheats, always. Literally. Those who know me and get into long hugs with me will tell you that my body is always literally hot. Burning. Strangers think I’m ill, those who know me say “this your warm body” ๐Ÿ™ƒ. Imagine carrying a hot water bottle to your face in this Nigerian heat ๐Ÿ˜ซ!

That’s just the weather and the atmosphere and their incompatibility with my facial skin and my body.

The rest is story for another, no, other days ๐Ÿ˜. 

Till you see my taillights again, ๐Ÿ‘‹๐Ÿพ!

Self-Discovery: Ever Heard of “The Spirit-Controlled Temperament”?

At some point in our lives, we make life-changing discoveries. This is mine.

If you were to wake me up and ask what my best book is, Iโ€™d say The Spirit-Controlled Temperament. Itโ€™s a life-changing book by Tim LaHaye. 

Wait o. All Iโ€™m doing here is sharing a bit of my journey of self discovery. ๐Ÿ™„ Donโ€™t go and be looking for โ€œSoโ€ฆ whatโ€™s the moral of the story?โ€

Ok. So, what makes this book so fascinating? It helped me understand why I can come across as a grouch and sometimes embody a resentful, hard-driving, in short, Curtis Payne from House of Payne. It also made sense of why an unemotional and largely insensitive Curtis Payne can express so much concern for his loved ones, and be so concerned with social issues and othersโ€™ welfare. 

I donโ€™t know if you like learning about yourself, but I do. Because even I surprise myself, at times. 

So, letโ€™s dig in. ๐Ÿ˜

Like Iโ€™ve said in one of my previous posts, Iโ€™m a choleric-melancholic, by nature. Iโ€™ll first break down the blend so you can understand why an undiluted combination of both can be lethal. 


Oh, this is only in relation to me โ€“ for obvious reasons aka itโ€™s my blog and Iโ€™m obviously using myself as a case study ๐Ÿ™„. I definitely wonโ€™t be telling you all my choleric and melancholy traits; just the ones that I find striking. ๐Ÿ™ƒ

Ok. Stereotypically, a choleric is โ€œhot, quick, active, practical, and strong-willed โ€ฆ. He is often self-sufficient and very independent. He tends to be decisive and opinionated, finding it easy to make decisions for himself as well as for others โ€ฆ By nature Cholerics have a serious emotional deficiency โ€ฆ. Choleric women may cry only when facing the most desperate circumstances.โ€ ๐Ÿ‘€ (The Spirit-Filled Temperament, Tim LaHaye).

Hereโ€™s a screenshot:


Now, my melancholy side.. ๐Ÿ‘€  


Tim LaHaye says the melancholy โ€œโ€ฆ is perhaps the most dependable of all the temperaments, for his perfectionist tendencies do not permit him to be a shirker .โ€ฆโ€ In short, let me add a screenshot.

Iโ€™m not even going to bother to gloat ๐Ÿ˜. 

Now, over to two key weaknesses ๐Ÿ˜ฉ: โ€œNo one is more critical than the Melancholy. With unrealistic expectations of others, they cannot happily accept less than the very best.โ€

The Blend โ€“ ChlorMel

For those who donโ€™t know, a temperament blend is the combination of an individualโ€™s two temperaments; primary and secondary.

Hmmm.. The blend of my primary (choleric ) and my secondary (melancholy) is hypothetically the blackest sheep of the temperament blends. The โ€œ๐Ÿ˜ง๐Ÿ‘Ž๐Ÿพโ€seem to be more than the โ€œ๐Ÿ˜€๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿพโ€ for the ChlorMels ๐Ÿ˜ฉ. ChlorMels who are as natural and raw as them comeโ€ฆ let me just grab one or more screenshots ๐Ÿ™ˆ. #WeThankGodForTheHolySpirit!

Iโ€™m not apt to be a dictator ๐Ÿ™„. Hate? I donโ€™t know about that ๐Ÿ˜•. Love? ๐Ÿคท๐Ÿพ๐Ÿ˜‚ Oh, please! Yes, of course! ๐Ÿ˜

๐Ÿ‘€๐Ÿ™ˆ Too. True.!


You see? Itโ€™s not all bad ๐Ÿ˜. Tim actually says our strengths and weaknesses are kind of balanced on the scaleโ€ฆ I donโ€™t know how accurate that is ๐Ÿ‘€. 

Left to me, I would be unbothered about improving some of those weaknesses because theyโ€™re just mentally convenient for me. I would think to myself, Why would they think Iโ€™m too fussy? ๐Ÿ™„ Canโ€™t they see that it could be better? On what planet does this arrangement even look attractive? ๐Ÿ™„.

Then thereโ€™s the part about speaking my mind, whether or not the other person wants to hear it. I would think sometimes, Why should I have to go through the stress of finding a nicer way to say that this design is ancient and obsolete and a waste of time and resources? Why canโ€™t I just tell him that he looks like a frog when he smiles? ๐Ÿ™„


What Next?

See, the way this book is written, the strengths are discussed before the weaknesses. I like to have my bad news/ reports first, then the good ones. But the book makes it clear that those weaknesses are part of our being; they donโ€™t make us less human. 

Iโ€™ve learned to embrace my strengths and deal with my weaknesses ๐Ÿ˜. The key to overcoming weaknesses is to first identify and acknowledge their existence, then find effective ways of doing something about them. They can be worked upon. I donโ€™t know who you go to for help with things that are possibly beyond you, but I go to God. And so does Tim. 

The most fantastic feature about this book for me is that it gives me an insight into why and how I can retune my weaknesses into strengths with the help of the Holy Spirit. In all my years of ignorantly being indifferent about my choleric emotional deficiency, I would occasionally feel the need to find a solution. I didnโ€™t find any. My complete solution isnโ€™t here yet, though. And I donโ€™t know if it will ever be complete. But Iโ€™m learning to tone down the self-sufficiency (Zechariah 4:6) and look to God to help me practise 1 Cor. 13 and Gal. 5:22-24 effectively ๐Ÿ˜Œ. 

I mean, itโ€™s amazing that as a naturally hostile and resentful choleric, Iโ€™m incapable of holding a grudge or treating people accordingly, based on the wrongs I know theyโ€™ve done. Once a few hours have gone by, I find it impossible to program my attitude towards them to match their offence. 

Like I said though, Iโ€™m still in the testing stages; part of my revisions are to temper my melancholy โ€œrealismโ€ with optimism so I donโ€™t emote pessimism. More so, Iโ€™ve come to appreciate the relationships I have โ€“ oh, wait! Iโ€™m not laying down my life for any friend, as it says about melancholies in the screenshot up there ๐Ÿ˜. As much as I have bitter complaints about life, I have no interest in sleeping in a coffin any time soon. Even my best friends already know that I love them ๐Ÿ˜‚. 

Furthermore, learning to hold those choleric comments in is also a thing because, as a matter of fact, I donโ€™t want someone else to say to me the things I sometimes say to others in my mind โ€“ except thereโ€™s an existent mutual agreement on 100% undiluted honesty (my way). I know words can be very hurtful so I try to isolate myself and keep quiet when I know my sarcasm or โ€œrazor-sharp, active tongueโ€ โ€“ as Tim puts is โ€“ is about to go into overdrive. 

Life is interesting, though. What is stereotypically termed as your own temperament weakness may be a strength to someone else, and could cause them to appreciate that attribute in you, especially when you manifest it. One manโ€™s meat is another manโ€™s poison ๐Ÿ˜. Iโ€™m not talking about a sarcastic or caustic tongue ๐Ÿ™„.

Anyhoo, Iโ€™m still a work in progress ๐Ÿ˜Œ. Got a long way to go with *some* missing fruits of the Spirit ๐Ÿ˜ฉ. But God is faithful ๐Ÿ˜…. 

Until you see me again, โœŒ๐Ÿพ I โ™ฅ๏ธ you! Or do I? ๐Ÿค”๐Ÿ™„

Why Do People Find it So Hard to Mind Their Own Businesses?

Oh, for the love of those ones who give their unsolicited opinions or advice!

Until one of my Public Law lectures at university, I had thought that the term “busybody” was Nigerian in origin and in usage. I never expected to hear it outside Africa, at most. Meanwhile, as is everything with Nigerians, the term has many Nigerian variants (mostly Yoruba ๐Ÿ˜): amebo, gbeborun, ekeebidun, eke is my hobby, ekenotu, gossip-gossip, aproko, pokenoser, I can’t even go on ๐Ÿ˜‚.

Surely, I’m not the only one who needs people to start minding their businesses ๐Ÿ™„. A lot of the time, I wonder what people actually do with their lives ๐Ÿ˜•. I mean, if you appear to be so preoccupied with my own life, what else is in your head?

As much as I will come across as an open book (because I am), I’m as private as it gets. I donโ€™t like people meddling in my life, even if it’s in something that’s readily obvious. If I don’t explicitly invite you, you’re not welcome.

I’m one of those irritable people so, I pay enormous attention to the way people behave around me. I hate it and it seriously puts me off when someone gives me unsolicited advice and thinks I give a damn about them or what they think. If I didn’t ask, it’s because I don’t care!

I donโ€™t know who else thinks like I do, but I donโ€™t like people asking me questions, especially unsolicited ones. So, I donโ€™t ask other people questions that I wouldnโ€™t want them to ask me, even if I’m the one who wants to ask a burning question ๐Ÿ˜‚. 

Where someone doesnโ€™t give you an invitation to comment on what’s going on in their life, or doesnโ€™t ask for your opinion, you really need not give it. You can’t dictate or recommend to people — with your supposedly innocuous comments — how they should live their lives, or what they should do or shouldn’t do with it. It’s theirs to live; not yours.

It’s not my doing, most certainly, but I cannot remember the last time I poked my nose into someone’s businessโ€ฆ oh, wait. I did very recently ask an acquaintance if she got married or engaged because I kept seeing her posts on my timeline that suggested it. I was just happy to see that people are already settling down ๐ŸŒ. It’s not my business though ๐Ÿ™Š. It even took me over a month to ask ๐Ÿ˜‚!

Unless they’re my close friend or other loved one, I really donโ€™t give a hoot what goes on in other people’s lives. My own life, that of my loved ones and what’s available on TV are enough for me.

I don’t know if you like or don’t mind people giving you their unsolicited opinions on matters that concern you, but I think I speak for the average person when I say that it’s unnecessary and unwanted. I hope people stay out of your business and I hope you stay out of theirs.

Anyhoo, until you hear from me again, โœŒ๐Ÿพ