“Baby, we’re running late!” Asieduah Balogun yelled out into the bedroom from her kitchen. For the past five minutes, she had sipped on a glass of white wine while she waited for her husband. She reached to the top of the fridge for her favourite book. She flipped it open and her favourite verse stared back right at her— Romans 8:28. Asieduah smiled.
“Mister Balogun! Where are…” she didn’t finish her sentence when she jumped into the air. “FEMI, I HAVE TOLD YOU NOT TO BE TICKLING ME!” She quenched in mock anger. Her husband, Femi Balogun, had crept up behind her and lightly nudged her in the rib. And when she complained, he only made faces at her, much to her sweet anger. Mr. Balogun knew she was only kidding when she chased him around the room with the aim of beating him for messing around with her. He knew she could not even so much as kill an intoxicated mosquito. But he played along and revelled in the beauty of the moment.
The two middle-aged parents ran around the house with all jollity, like satiated village kids who were completely oblivious to the pain and injustices of the world.
Finally, when he sensed she was tired, Mr. Balogun grabbed his wife. In a swift move, he locked his left arm behind her waist and spread his right palm behind the back of her head. He drew her head closer to his, so that they were just a few inches apart.
“I love you, Mrs. Balogun. If I died today, I would want to die with you.”
“Haha, don’t be saying such things, Femi,” she laughed. “I love you too, sweetheart. You know it. And stop calling me Mrs. Balogun!”
She wondered how he could be so annoying and extremely sweet at the same time. He was like fiery hot pepper with tilapia; delectable but scalding to the tongue. Asieduah closed her eyes as her husband conquered her lips with his.
About a minute later, she broke off the kiss. “Mr. Balogun, we are enjoying this but the kids have been waiting for the past thirty minutes for us to pick them from school. Please let’s continue this in the night,” she winked at him. He looked amused. He shook his head and said grudgingly, “Okay, let’s go.” They dragged themselves downstairs to the garage.
A serial story by Kossi Akplah, threesixtyGh Writer