4 Reasons You Should Read The Broadcast Messages Your Parents Send To You

If you ever wondered where your parents get those videos—the "Happy New Month" videos with the jazz sound track and the glittering letters, well, welcome to the club, it appears we will never know. My 4 parents love to send me broadcast messages and videos that have been forwarded to them by friends. The real mystery is who the people who create and peddle out these messages are. They sure know how to cover their tracks.

Our parents love them anyway.  In a way, it’s a little endearing to see them embrace technology and social media so readily. Their generation really is the real MVP. They were privileged enough to witness town-criers as kids, send telegrams and hand-written letters as young adults, they used those phones with the circular number dials in the 80s and 90s, then they moved to digital phones and faxes, then came emails, cellular phones and texting. My dad owned texting! He probably came up with at least half of the acronyms used in texting today, some of them my siblings and I are still trying to decipher until date. Owned it!

I miss using this phone! 

Seriously though, that generation amazes me, the way they have adapted to the times and adopted technology so fast.

If I were them, I’d have given up right after telegrams. So the next time they send you a message, regardless of the quality of the media, here are 4 reasons you should read it:

1. To humor them(and yourself):  The messages our parents send actually make the news at our dinner table. Ed and I go like,“Did you see the message dad sent out today?” Then we either reflect or laugh or be grossed out(my mum once sent a video of a chicken farm attendant pumping chickens with gallons of fat till they were double their sizes. We did not eat chicken for a month. Then she sent one about canned fish…)

2. To learn: Surprisingly some of these messages could be quite informative. We owe several lifestyle changes to some  of the broadcasts my parents and Ed’s parents send to us. For example, we have started drinking more water, eating more fruits and vegetables and are thoroughly aware that Jesus is coming back soon, through the not-so-gentle-reminders.

3. So you can discuss with them next time you speak: You know that moment when mum excitedly asks,”Did you see the video I sent to you?” and you start to stutter. Never to happen again! These messages make great conversation starters, and mum is glad that you acknowledged her message. The best child award goes to you.

4. To smile and remember how awesome they are: All 4 parents of mine love to send "Good Morning" messages, "Happy New Month" messages, messages containing motivational content as well as debatable political views. My favorite are the conspiracy theories. I personally love conspiracy theories and have mine stacked up in my mind. It makes me glad to know where I got this from. Lol! I try to send some back as well when I can. Yes, I admit, sometimes I'm a peddler, but only because it makes them happy!

How about you? Do your parents send you these broadcast messages? Which was the best? Are you a broadcast peddler? 

Pa. Amos Adegbola Street (Short Story)

 This short story contains foreign language, and some inappropriate use of diction. This is for the proper portrayal of the character(s).

On the corner of Pa. Amos Adegbola street, just beyond the silvery fluorescence of the moon, an old pickup truck sat hooded in the shade of a mango tree. In it, four masked men sat in muted anxiety, the white of their eyes stark, as they stared out into the darkness around them. Electric power had been cut off a few minutes ago, and now the houses radiated a quiet quiescence— a somber static, the buildings stood frozen against the silhouettes of leafy trees and electric poles and cables, all scattered in the moonlit visage. A loud silence permeated the pickup, the men heard it thump in their ears, along with the disconcerted throbbing of their pulses.

Lamidi went over the plan for the fifteenth time: at 8 O’clock the doors of the pickup would swing open, shots would be heard. The raid would last an hour, and just before the vigilante's tin gong echoed down the street and before his leathery fingers clamped shut the padlock of the neighborhood gate, the pickup would screech out of Pa. Amos Adegbola street, a street with one exit that fed into the inner streets of Ikeja.

Lamidi went over the plan one last time, his throat parched, his quaking fingers on the door handle. At that moment, the headlamps of a car lit up their faces, they hunkered down in their seats and squinted at the light, as it turned into the dead end street.

************

“Don’t panic.” Etim whispered. Marie watched the bulge of his neck sink in a quick swallow, his breathing quickened, his right hand rested lightly on the gear stick.

“Babe, what’s going on?” She matched his hushed tone. The headlamps of the car behind bore into their car through the dusty haze. Etim hadn't taken his eyes off the lights since it started following them at the beginning of Pa. Amos Adegbola street.

His grip tightened on the stick, his knuckles taut, gripping the steering wheel.

From the corner of her eye, Marie saw the dark car drive up beside them, it swerved and swayed closer, its engine roared, as it shot past them.

“Etim, Wha—,” The car swerved into their path and screeched to a stop. Etim stomped hard on the brakes. Marie’s head smacked the pad of the headrest.

“Etim, what’s going on?” She kept her eyes on the dark vehicle in front of them, her hands trembled until her phone thudded on the floor mat, the back of her head ached lightly.  Four masked men appeared when the doors swung open, two of them held long rifles.

Etim threw the gearstick back and spun a wide one-eighty turn on his hind tires. The front tires screeched as they grated the jagged asphalt. The smell of burning rubber wafted into the car and Marie gripped the door handle as their Honda shot down the road. In the rearview mirror, the men jumped into their vehicle, their bodies hung out of the windows, clanging their weapons on the sides of their car. They closed in on Etim's car and swung out beside it. The masked men yelled from their windows above the roar of their engine, their car screeched and swung itself in Etim's path. Etim slammed his brakes. This time, the two men with guns were out before their car stopped.

“Get down!”

“Where is the gold?!”

“Where is the money?”

“Face on the ground!”

“It’s ok, babe. Just lie down,” Etim said, he opened his door. The men dragged him out and threw him to the floor.

Marie was on the ground already. Little stones bit into her skin and the cool tar pressed into her forehead and her open palms.

“Woman, where is the money?”

“I—I don’t have any. Check my bag. I have my ATM and my phone.” Marie choked. The tears were streaming now. A dog barked somewhere close by.

“You think we are playing here? Your husband is dead, if you don’t give us the money.” A muffled voice said.

“I don’t have any money, please.” She begged. “Please.” She felt her jeans go damp and her tears pooled where her nose touched the floor.

The men searched the car and flung the contents of the glove compartment on the street. A floor mat landed next to her head. 

"Where is the gold?"

She saw her phone disappear into a backpack, so did Etim’s laptop. The voice yelled above her again.

“I don’t—,” Marie choked on tears and phlegm. She shook her head.

“Do you have any final words for your husband?” the voice snapped .

“Please...he's not...we aren’t married,” Her lips brushed the concrete, as she sobbed on the ground. She shut her eyes tight.

Etim.

“Take the car—,”She pleaded, her eyes shut, “Don’t shoot him, please!”

“Get up!” The muffled voice vibrated from Etim's side of the car. Marie heard feet shuffle; footsteps crunched on stones and sparse, dry sand. Then they stopped  and there was silence, save for the dog barking in the distance.

“Marie?” Etim’s voice cracked through the noiselessness. His voice was closer now. She opened her eyes and lifted her head off the ground.

Etim was on his knees, two feet from where she laid, his hands behind his back, one of the masked men stood behind him with a gun pointed at the back of his head.

“Any last words for the woman?” The man asked.

Marie stared into Etim's face, he closed his eyes and his chin fell forward to his chest. When he looked up again, his hands appeared in front of him, a tiny brown box lay open, cradled in his palm. The diamond sparkled in the car light.

“Any last words for the woman?” The masked man yelled again. Now the men stood behind Etim, all four of them.

“Marie, this is it for me,” Etim sighed, “I have never met anyone like you and my life would fall apart if I tried to love anyone else. You have made me a better man and we have grown so much in the last three years. This is it for me—what we have here. I know in many ways you are way out of my league and I hope you can squeeze in one more way by you becoming my wife.” He moved a pace closer on his knees. “Marie Olusola Obanor, will you marry me?” Marie was on her feet now. Her palm, at the base of her throat and her lips parted slightly. She looked at Etim—and the ring—and the men. One after the other, the men tore off their masks and burst out laughing. Their deep, rambunctious laughs rippled in the silence.

The masks revealed Michael— her brother, Dotun, Ayo and Obi, Etim's friends. 

Marie stood there unable to move, forgetting to breathe.

“You should have seen your face!” Michael had his mask around his head like a cap now, one hand clutched his belly and his other hand held the long toy rifle.

Etim remained on his knees. Marie felt her face burn up, her cheeks were moist with tears and her sobs burst out in short gasps like chuckles. She lurched at him, her palms throwing playful slaps anywhere they landed on his lanky frame.

“Not funny!” Etim couldn’t stop laughing, her little hands stinging sweetly.

“You guys are crazy!” She chased Michael and Dotun now. They ran up the street, past an old pickup truck under the mango tree. Just then, the compound lights and street lamps lit up. The neighborhood came alive with familiar buzz of electric power.

Marie chased them in the light of the street lamps, until she caught them. They wouldn’t stop laughing, their screams of mirth resounded.

“Will you marry me though?!” Etim's voice echoed down the street. Lights in the houses began to come on. Disgruntled neighbors shouted down the street joining the uproar.

“Yes! I will!” Marie yelled, she was flung over Dotun’s shoulder now, laughing, with her head dangling down his back, “Yes! I will!”

******

A young female chased three men past the dark pickup parked on the corner of Pa. Amos Adegbola street. Four men sat sweating in their masks, as they shrunk down further into their seats. The shiny, fake guns in their hands got heavier. Power had been restored and the residents had switched on their lights. Now, the street buzzed with life, dogs barked, neighbours yelled from their windows and people gathered on the balconies.

“You be fool,"Lamidi said to the man at the wheel. “Na this street you see come park motor.”

“How we go take commot now?!" The female was over the shoulder of one of the men, laughing and yelling under the warm amber streetlights.

The masked men looked around frantically.

“If not for this foolish children wey wake everybody now—”

“And this nonsense NEPA wey bring light…”

“We fit still go now! We attack now, now— we strike the knockout banger as we plan—” The robber held the box of cheap fireworks in his palm.

“Shut up!” Lamidi snapped, he held tight to the brown grip of this useless gun— which would squirt water—at the most. His lips parted in prayer.

They sat still, slouched in their seats. Without words, the unanimous decision was to wait until it was all silent again—maybe the neighbors would go back to bed; maybe the power would be cut off again. Maybe the darkness would once again imbue its gloom and insecurity.

Their hearts beat faster, and soon in the distance they heard the rhythmic percussion of the vigilante’s stick hitting metal. Ta—Ta-tata—tatata—tata. Their hearts followed the cadence. Their lips moved quickly in prayer. Some shut their eyes, some left them open.

Ta—Ta-tata—tatata—tata.

Ta-Ta-tata—a gong stick tapped on their window—Tatata-tata.

The end

Copyright ©2016 by IkeOluwapo Adegboye

---

This fictional story was inspired by my friend, who planned to propose to his girlfriend during a staged robbery. We are glad to say he didn't, he decided to settle for something less dramatic and I am grateful to him for inspiring this story. He did propose two weeks ago. She said Yes!

There were no guns involved!

Make This Week 100% Spicier With These...

I know the week is over, practically, but that's not a valid reason not to have a magnificent Thursday and Friday, huh? These guys below have helped me along this busy, blessed week. Here they are my spice-factors:

I. Spice up your soul with Mali Music

I discovered Mali Music in 2009 with his song "Yahweh". Recently, my speakers have been rocking songs like Digital and Ready Aim but I didn't know he was the artist behind them! His transformation and growth have been whao-ish! If you love hip-hop and God, you'll love this guy's music! The song below is the ultimate "you-can't-shoot-me-down" song with very powerful lyrics*goosebumps*. Check out his other songs: Digital, Beautiful, Fight for you! The guy is just super!

II. Spice up your mind by wondering how Oscarine became like this (lol)

If you don't know Oscarine, prepare to join me in wondering how she became this way. I have many questions for her. Actually, I'd like to have her over for dinner. First, does she live by herself? Do people walk in on her when she does these skits? How does she crack us up with a straight face?! She's just hilarious.

III. Spice up your taste buds with a watermelon cooler or make one, virgin or non-virgin

Watermelon coolers were made for parched throats, ok, they were made for all throats...no throat gets left behind on this one. All you need are some watermelons(naturally), ice, sugar, lime juice and mint leaves (optional)

IV. Spice up your dreams with this Nigerian guy we all love!

Credit: Getty Images

Most people know Oduduru Divine for creating the famous "I never esperredit"  and "Die on the line" slangs in 2014. Great job, man! Divine was second at the Olympics during the Heat 9 race at the 2016 Olympics in Rio, and guess who was first? Usain Bolt. His dream was to compete with Mr. Usain and that dream came true! He bit me with the inspiration bug!

V. Spice up your weird Imagination

Am I weird for hoping Divine Oduduru and Simone Biles fall in love? 

What are your thoughts? Would these help your week? Don't you just love the idea of sipping an ice-cold watermelon cooler while laughing at Oscarine-memes and hoping that Divine and Simone meet...Mali music blasting from your headphones! Bom-bom-kqish.

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Lazy Fashionista: 5 Summer Pieces I Killed...Dead

This post is about 5 pieces of clothes I killed! When I say "killed", I mean literally killed, not the urban dictionary meaning which denotes the accomplishment of "slaying" or successfully "executing a plan" or in this case executing an outfit. No, I killed these articles of fashion, some of them are on life-support and others need CPR but that's Ok, they have a year to make a comeback...that is, if they haven't formed a committee, stolen some shoe laces and escaped from my closet through my window.

My Five Summer Items: 

1) Bangles

I bought these ethnic patterned babies from the Front General Store in Brookyln at the start of summer. They were made for me. I'm not kidding. Other customers were drawn to the bowl in which these bangles lustfully lay, just as I was, and they kept trying them on but they wouldn't fit. I believe I've worn them on most days this summer. They just seem to go with everything! I have killed them, in fact one seems to have unraveled but unfortunately, I have no retirement plans for them, anytime soon, so get back to work, bangles!

2) Shorts

I. Killed. Shorts. I did. You know when your mum tells you not to wear something because it's too short or clingy, and then you stumble on one of her photographs from ages ago and she's wearing the exact same thing? No doubt this will happen to me if I have a daughter but you know what? I don't care, because it was like the sun moved in next door to my home this summer. I wore shorts almost everyday, except on Sundays and that's only because church has air-conditioning.

3) Crops

A-ha I didn't rock these so much but I did try my best to wear them a few times-with the Ankara skirt and a pair of shorts because I had promised last year to try them on. They were supposed to be a motivation for a great summer bod. Then again, sucking your gut for hours is not so bad either. Presto, summer bod! Don't listen to me, visit the gym. No, no sucking.

4) Necklace

It's a summer piece because I don't wear necklaces in winters. If it's winter and you aren't a scarf, please get off my neck! This necklace is a favorite piece of mine. I bought it at the Brookyln Flea market! It fit right in with most of my outfits. I can't wait for next summer to kil' it again. Muhaha.

5) These well-broken-in Orange Aldo flats

Lol! I love these shoes. I had searched high and low for them and I couldn't find my size anywhere. Then one day I asked an attendant helping me at the Oxford Street Aldo about them and he found me a pair! It's just plain sentimental attachment and they are so comfortable. Itunu, my sister-in-law, also has one, so the sentimental attachment is pretty high up there!

Is this the end of our superhero flats?

What is your most "rocked and killed" piece ever? Are your daughters going to give you the side-eye too? Hmm, I also had my natural hair out most of the time! What style do you have on?

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What To Expect in Marriage (Only the Good Stuff)

 

Bum Slaps Make Good Marriages

Mr and Mrs. A* have been my parents’ friends for as long as I can remember. They always had smiles on their faces, always smelt good, were always happy! Always happy. One day, after yet another cheerful visit to our house, they chose to show themselves out and headed for their car. As they headed out, up our driveway, unaware that I was at the window, watching them go, Mrs. A slapped Mr. A on the bum and then they burst into silent giggles.

Hmmn. I cocked my head to the side.

I mean, this was new and not so new. My parents did stuff like that but just in front of us, not in front of other peoples’ houses. Public, flirtatious bum slaps were not very common in my town. Definitely never saw those in Agbeni or Mokola market. Oh wait… yes, I did but it was gross, it involved a bus conductor and a hawker and has no bearing on this blog post.

Anyway, Mr and Mrs A were old. Like old, old. They had like 4 grown kids, so this wasn’t newlywed stuff. As they stepped out of our gate, they whispered and chuckled and then Mrs. A's hand came to rest lightly on his waist, a very friendly, intimate gesture.
To my 6 year-old self, it was like 'Whao, this thing called a happy, fun marriage isn’t rare at all!' This marriage thing was going to be a breeze and the flirtations would last forever! We’d giggle and smack our bums all day. What could be better than that?

Much later in life, I would come to appreciate mum, dad and their friends so much more because I realized that to have that quality of a relationship, they must have put in a lot of effort. I’m not saying bum-slaps make good marriages, well, I am. Kind of. Lol. The love, regard, honor, flirtations and friendship.

I would also realize that my marriage becomes whatever I imagine it to be and that being around good couples that provide the right picture of what a marriage should be is important!
I'm very much aware that not everyone has/had good models for this but if you look well enough, you have models in your life right now. God always tucks templates in your life; templates worth emulating!

Alright, alright Ike, we’ve heard. What should I expect in marriage?

First, we can only expect these things if we are willing to put in the work and prayers! Deal? This is where you say, "Deal."

1. Bum Smacks (you guessed it!)

Marriage is serious but it isn't uptight. You should expect a free, fun, warm atmosphere which involves a lot of laughter and contentment!
Marriage is fun! It's the exclusive selection and preference of one individual above all others, based on a mutual understanding and appreciation of the other person's abilities and characteristics, both good and bad. It's all fun and games most of the time. The bible says, the sounds of rejoicing is always heard in the tent of the righteous (married or not, for our purposes let's use 'married').  I just imagined living in a tent with Ed. Post idea!

2. Hello, Eden!

In marriage, all is laid bare. Like naked-bare. Literally.

So yeah, you guys are naked a lot, hopefully. You also begin to reveal your true, true nature.
I won't lie to you, stuff gets real in marriage. Suddenly you wake up and realize that the gap teeth which you fell in love with, turned out to be actually customized dentures. You realize oops, that was a wig, her lashes aren't that long and she has a beard. You realize he snores like a 1978 model tractor and apparently wears a tummy clincher (for men), it turns out they have those too. Copy-cats!
Still, you realize it's beautiful and worth it.

3. Serial Finish lines

Marriage is a huge marathon with other little marathons in it. People change. I wish that wasn't true but it is. People change and every time they do, you begin to run a mini race, where you both are tied at your ankles, like a three-legged-race type thing. You have to keep going, evolving on each other, loving each other and winning all the races as a couple and tapping bums! This would be a good time to slap your significant other's bum, just because. Make this post worth it.

4. A Slay Mate

I have tried praying by myself about particular issues and the results were staggering but when two people are united and pray- uhwee! Things get a little violent, results come, progression comes. Pray together. I don’t mean doze-pray. Lol. I mean conscious, heart felt, heaven-jerking prayers!

5. A Better You

I learnt this in my first year of marriage! Marriage makes us better versions of ourselves. How? Disagreements shave off pride. Every time you choose to take the high road, some pride gets mowed off! In no time, you will become a better person. Choosing to end quarrels quickly and well, discussing the issues and ways to be better makes this thing a breeze.

6. Learning Everyday and Talking About Farts

We learn everyday in marriage, it’s always a different day, a different lesson. First to say again: marriage is not really about you, it’s always about the other person. In learning to love and serve your spouse, you become the best version of yourself!
We also talk about our failures and farts, stuff that embarrass us and the fears that imprison us and we work together to get rid of those.

7. A Sudden Realization That Your Marriage is Unique and a Little too Hot to Handle

Ok, I’m probably not the first to say this one: there is NO ONE like you and absolutely no one like your sig. other! Therefore, you can’t ever have a marriage like anyone else’s. We have to remember to never superimpose other people's marriages on ours. Your marriage is precious, unique and exciting, with a message to share with the world! There is a place for mentoring and emulation of positive habits but there’s no space for destructive comparison or things will definitely implode and then there will be absolutely no bum slaps- and we can’t have that!

Hey, what are your thoughts? What were/are your expectations about marriage? Any fun marriage mentors in your life?

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6 Reasons You Should Read Men's Magazines (if you are a woman)

I like reading Ed's magazines because they are very testosterone-y and steely! The general misconception is that they only ever talk about bicep curls, energy bars, cars and girls...which is a little true but you'd be amazed at the great life-hacks you'd find in those glossy minimalist dude-pages. It's definitely less pink and has fewer photographs of handbags (which I find a little underwhelming) but hey. Here are 5 reasons to read guy-magazines:

1. Great gift ideas

Men's magazines are a great resource for gift-ideas for your guy! No easier way to spot trending merchandise than flipping through the pages of a Men's magazine. They have fragrance tabs as well, just like ours, so you can sniff before you buy. Right, it's settled, no more plaid handkerchiefs for his birthday, maybe a 2017 Mercedes C300? 

2. Ridiculously easy recipes

While we get those "marinade the plump chicken breast for about 48 hours" type recipes, men get the easiest recipes! A girl needs quick, basic and yummy sometimes. Not every time, ofada stew

3. Jolting inspiration

Get some inspiration from a boy-boss! I just read about a 72 year-old man who climbed Everest, had a heart attack and then ran 7 marathons! Seriously! I'm so going to out-cardio everyone at the gym today. 

4. Keeps you in the slang-loop

I was completely done reading an article, when I realized that the word "staff" is used to refer to masculine genies! I did not know that! I was actually wondering why they kept using the word in odd places. Suddenly, when the manager says, "I'd like you to meet the staff", it will be a little weird. Thanks a lot, Men's magazine.

5. Learn new tricks

Apparently, men talk about sex a lot, but you knew that already. Splayed all over the pages are personal accounts, experiences and quite "interesting" stories which could help your sex life (or not) depending on how to like to roll (or not roll). There's probably something in there for everyone though. Choose and pick.

6. Eye Candy (for the single ladies)

What can I say? It also smells like your next boyfriend (fragrance tabs).

Do you read Men's magazines or blogs? Which are your favorite? Who was the last person that inspired you? 

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7 Quirky Phobias and the People who benefit from them.

I'm on a magnified feel-good-optimistic streak this month; so much that in this post we are going to talk about the benefits of phobias! Well, we are going to talk about phobias - and the people that would benefit when other people have those phobias. One man's 'bo!' is another man's boo.

One thing is certain, having a phobia doesn't benefit the person who has it, in any way, (well except phobia #1).

Below are 7 whimsically interesting phobias, which of them would you benefit from? 

1. Mageirocophobia

The fear of cooking.

Who this benefits: Me.

 "Babe, I have Mageirocophobia. *innocent stare* Lets eat out, forever!" That's what I'd say. However, we all know that's not the best idea. Cooking your own meals helps you monitor the quality and quantity of ingredients used!

2. Pogonophobia

The fear of Beards.

Who this benefits: My mum.

She doesn't get the beard-gang trend at all! I keep telling her, "Mum, Jesus had a beard!" Lol!

3. Chaetophobia

The fear of loose or detached hair (or bundles of Brazilian hair).

Who this benefits: Boo.

Having chaetophobia means no extra expense on over-priced extensions. I think I've had a mild case of Chaetiphobia before. I bought this Grade A Peruvian bundle once and honestly, it felt like it was alive! It was that authentic.

4. Ablutophobia

The fear of bathing

Who benefits: No one. No one at all.

No comment. Actually, comment: There's no substitute for a bath. I just checked, not even air baths. 

5. Eurotophobia

The fear of female genitalia

Who benefits: Your parents (if you are a guy)

They'd love for you to be europhobic until you are like 27 and you have a job and can actually afford to have a baby.

6. Anuptaphobia

The fear of being single

Who benefits: The Yoruba demons and Arch-demons.

Being frightened of living for months unhitched only causes you to run into the arms of the bad boys and if you are a guy, into the arms of a girl-demon. Choose not to live in fear. Nothing inspired by fear can end well.

7. Chronophobia

The fear of time passing

Who this benefits: Your doctor's mortgage payments.

Whenever I have a badly planned day, I admit I end up with a mild case of chronophobia. Actually, if you ever say "24 hours is not enough!" You might be well on your way to this phobia. Try planning your day the night before and tick off your to-do items as you go! That way, you don't have panic attacks and sporadic palpations that require you to see you Doctor often. 

Do you have Pentheraphobia (fear of your mother in law)? Read here to figure out how to deal!

Do you have any phobias? Who would they benefit?

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5 Random but oh-so-true Reasons to Pack your Lunch

I know, I know, packing your lunch doesn't sound like fun at all, well, not unless it looks like the photo above. Let's skip through 5 reasons it may not be so bad after all!

1. It's a great lunch-time conversation starter, assuming your food doesn't contain locust beans (iru, the world's most sensational ingredient). If it does, you shall be sitting by yourself, my friend!

2. It's probably cheaper than buying lunch.

3. /4. You should take your lunch to work or school, well, because you are such an awesome cook and someone does have to eat it or because you are the worst cook who ever walked the face of the earth and you need to improve your cooking skills with practice! It's a win-win! 

Psst! YouTube is great for learning how to make new dishes and to improve your culinary skills! 

5. Taking your lunch with you is probably healthier than buying lunch-you get to control the quality and quantity *side look*.   

Do you take your lunch to work or school? Do you get questions about your food from colleagues? Wait, do you get a free buffet at work? Are you guys hiring? *Grin*

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