Beads of sweat trickled down Tunde’s face which held the look of frustration. It was the fifth time he was visiting the restroom that night, and the third time his pants were getting stained. He sat down weakly on the WC, looking like every atom of strength had been sapped out of him. As the discharge from his bowels freely sped out, Dele’s words, “You’ll kill yourself o!”, echoed in his head, he wrinkled his face, regretting the previous day.
It had been merriment all through, the previous day, as they celebrated their father, who had just been promoted to the post of a general manager at his workplace.
“You’ll kill yourself o! Is today the end of your life? Why are you eating and drinking like this?” Dele, his brother had questioned, and everyone roared with laughter.
“Have you ever heard that a man died of joy? I am overjoyed! Overjoyed that my allowance will become twice what it is henceforth. Therefore, I want to celebrate to the fullest!” Tunde’s reply got the household laughing harder than before.
He made sure he had a few glasses of every wine and every juice before the day ran out: Bacchus, Eva, Baron, Hollandia Yoghurt, Five Alive, Chivita, and many more. He chewed meat until his mouth went sore, and he had had at least four plates of rice and salad before it was bedtime.
Tunde sat down as soon as he got up from the WC, as he felt his tummy rumble inside again. He, misty-eyed, clasped his two hands together and began miming words. Perhaps he was begging for God’s mercy, and swearing that he should be struck dead if he got so gluttonous ever again.
“Oga Tunde, this is your food” Titilayo, the house help, made to drop his food on the dinning table.
He looked at the tray, a plate of fried rice and fried chicken, with a container of Hollandia Yoghurt. He smiled, “Not today, Satan, not today”, and everyone choked with laughter.