As most of you know, I love food. You know, you can take one glance at my humongous frame and you’d probably conclude that I love food. Also, the five chilidogs I have in my mouth would be a pretty good giveaway. In fact, I love food so much I could probably name a few (twenty) sexual deviations involving food that I probably have don’t have.

Who would’ve thought that my love for food would actually be a social impediment?

I was eating in KFC with Wits and Baddie, stuffing our faces as usual with chicken and discussing the merits of KY Jelly when applied to financial situations in the context of the current global economic meltdown. Don’t ask.

So we soon realized that we ran out of gravy. And somehow there was only one gravy thermos in a floor of around fifty gravy-eating customers. Fifty murderous gravy-eating customers who are desperate for it.

*insert heavenly choir here*

So I stood up and went towards the gravy container. As I took one step, another girl stood up and walked towards the gravy. I stopped, and she did the same. And she eyed me suspiciously. And this is how I knew that she was out to get my gravy. My gravy. MINE.

And without thinking, I broke into a run. I was able to cover the three feet distance to the gravy in a matter of seconds. She didn’t even have time to react. I saw her bewildered face as I got to the gravy. And I saw the disappointed expression on her face as she slowly walked away dejectedly, head hung low. I won!

I was still gloating when I got back to the table; Baddie was laughing his ass off and Wits was, idunno, probably eating still. Then it hit me how chivalrous that was of me and and I guess that explains why I was single for the better part of last year. Way to go, Ade.

Also, the gravy thermos was totally empty.