As a typical Nigerian family, it is customary that you MUST eat chicken or any of its kinsmen- Turkey, Duck(if you many) and any other type of meat as long as its not beef on Christmas day. I wonder who established this unspoken rule by the way. Anyways, as we (sister & I) were cutting up one chicken, my mum and cousin were cutting up another.
Okay, to the genesis of the story. We had 3 chickens on ground for the festivities. The first chicken, the biggest of them all was a gift from an in-law. If that chicken could be ascribed to the looks or persona of a human being, it’ld be called a fuckboy. Tall, big, majestic and dazzling in its white feathered glory. Cocky as hell too. The second and third chickens were bought together from the same stall in the market. These ones can be looked at as the dorks. They had brown feathers (not like brown is associated with dorks), clung to each other like clay (probably singing Mariah Carey’s we belong together in their heads) and were hella afraid of this fuckboy chicken.
So as the saying goes, one day chicken must baff hot water, it was time for the slaughtering.
Lo and behold, after the feathers had been pulled out and the actual butchering had begun, we found out that our almighty fuckboy (white chicken #1) had a really soft skin. No resistance at all when a knife was applied to it, while the other nerdy bunch’s (brown chicken #2 & #3) skin had more resilience while being cut. It surprised me, though it taught me one thing- Never judge a book by its cover. I know it sounds like I’m singing the same old song but it really is true. Hell I was guilty of it too!
Sometime before we killed them (believe me I feel sorry), they’d had a cock fight- beaked at each other and all of that. The fuckboy (white chicken) won, no contest there! I mean it won a fight with two other chickens hands down, so I easily thought it was the strongest in every way possible.
All I’m saying?
I’m saying sometimes its not the way we look on the outside that we are on the inside. I might have a hard outer core but be a real softie on the inside. All that bravado that I put up, its just a defense so that you don’t get to know how I truly am on the inside OR maybe that’s just me trying to protect myself from getting hurt OR I might have had a wound that hasn’t healed yet and I don’t want anyone playing with it and getting it all goey again.
On the reverse side, I might look like the can’t-hurt-a-bee-even-if-it-stung-my-eye type but be real hardcore inside and have the absolute worst anger issues.
So for what it’s worth guys, be careful with your words- which can be likened to those knives we used to kill the chickens. Not every skin will be as resilient as those brown chickens’ were. Remember, its easier to destroy than it is to build. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, and when/if you do, ask yourself if saying it really improves the situation.
Be good! xx