The Worst Valentine’s Date of My Life – And How I Became a Fugitive

I always knew Lagos men were built differently, but nothing could have prepared me for the romance-turned-criminal-escape-mission that was my last Valentine’s Day.

It all started when David – fine boy, beard connecting, voice like he just swallowed honey – asked me out for Valentine’s. My spirit warned me. But did I listen? No. Because when you’ve been single for three consecutive Valentine’s, even your village people start to pity you.

So I said yes.

On D-Day, I showed up at a fancy restaurant looking hot enough to make the devil rethink his job. The place was the kind that screamed, “If you have to check the price, you can’t afford it.” David was already seated, smiling like he wasn’t about to ruin my life.

But here’s where the first slap from reality landed:

As I was about to sit, another girl walked up and kissed David. In front of me.

At first, I thought maybe my village people were pressing my neck again. But no, the girl looked at me and said, “Oh, you must be one of David’s friends!”

David, the demon in human form, just sat there like a Netflix villain.

I was about to set the entire place on fire, but before I could say anything, a THIRD girl showed up.

I swear, my soul left my body.

This one didn’t even ask questions. She just sat down and called the waiter. My brain was refusing to function.

Was I on a hidden camera show? Had I mistakenly joined a polygamous family?

Then, the second girl – let’s call her Babe No. 2 – turned to me and said, “Sis, how do you know David?”

Before I could answer, the waiter appeared.

“With your permission, sir, should I bring the food?”

SIR.

DAVID SAID YES.

That’s when I realized I was about to be part of a group billing.

At this point, my entire life flashed before my eyes. Rent? Expensive. Data? Expensive. This food? Definitely not in my budget.

I did the only logical thing:

I excused myself to the bathroom.

And I RAN.

I didn’t just run. I FLED.

I didn’t stop running until I was three streets away, panting like a Christmas goat. My wig? Gone. My dignity? Left at the restaurant.

And just when I thought I was safe…

My phone rang. David.

I picked up, and he said, “Babe, where are you? The bill is here.”

I ended the call so fast, MTN sent me a text asking if I was okay.

And that’s how I became a fugitive on Valentine’s Day. Till today, I can’t step near that restaurant.

Moral lesson? If a Nigerian man starts acting extra sweet before Valentine’s, check if your name is on his client list.

Also? If your spirit ever warns you, LISTEN.

Hey Luv, Wait. Feel More Crackko Vibe:

If you love thrilling near-disaster stories, check out Confessions & Close Calls.