Read the daily, non-fictional tales of a young, unmarried Nigerian woman who lives in Lagos at this time.
I am not a fashion girl. Don't get me wrong. I love to shop for clothes and spend hours afterwards trying them on in front of the mirror. I love the compliments I receive when I wear something nice. I love to mix and match colours as much as I can or when I have the time for it.
But I am not obsessed with fashion. My friend, Tudun, is. She wears the most trendy clothes, knows all the designer names by heart and can tell if a dress would fit just by looking at it.
Her great fashion sense comes in handy every now and then. When I have to attend a major work event or a meeting and I am at a loss for what to wear, I just call her. She either comes running with her clothes - lucky we are the same size - or she tells me what to wear and how best to accessorize it.
Sometimes, though, her fashion sense is a huge pain. If she is not making a fuss over my clothes, she is complaining about how my shoes and bag do not match.
One time at work after a meeting with the boss, she pulled me aside and whispered, "Wardrobe malfunction?"
When I left the house that morning, wearing a striped shirt tucked into a pair of multi-coloured pants, I thought I looked good and had no idea my outfit was a wardrobe malfunction.
"And good morning to you, too," I responded.
If she got the message, she ignored it and went on about how my outfit was off.
I might have been offended if it was anybody else, but I knew Tudun and I was used to her ways.
Fashion is just not my thing. I mean, I have my good days when I dress to kill. But I am definitely no fashion girl.