I realized I was messed up (like I am a drama queen) during my period when I caressed my cramping stomach and told my exiting never made it egg (almost baby) to behave and silently thanked the heavens that it was never fertilized. Please don’t judge me ( I do that every day), I do want to be a mum and I do want to have mini-me that’s sassy and overly dramatic and strong black curls but my wallet says otherwise. My job doesn’t pay enough for a single millennial afropolitan woman without adding a baby to the mix. I sometimes fear I won’t get married because dude will be too busy saving for mealie-meal to bother marrying this Ruth. Where am I going with this? Am I angry or just hangry? Neither of the two I am just a girl staring at her wallet hoping there is a 20 in it *sigh* I am not mad because once upon a time I was mad that my neighbor kept allowing his kids to steal my lemons (without asking that is) but getting mad didn’t do my mood or tree justice, I once tried dialogue but it didn’t work because my dog still chews my watermelon clad slippers *sigh*. I am just another woman ranting on her blog because she is done with hashtags (#NotAnAngryWoman) and woman gossiping in the Zupco bus that I have a large lunch bag. Uhmmm like seriously?