Three weeks ago, I turned 33. I asked myself how do I feel, and to be honest, I don’t feel much different than 32, or 31, or 30 or 29. I’ve pretty much been steadily focused on what I believe God has called me to become. But my Nigerian mother and my cohort of Nigerian aunties have a different way of viewing my age. From 25 and beyond, the seasoned women in my life have made it their duty to remind me of a clock that is ticking somewhere and have been committing co-operations to introduce me to men I’m sure they haven’t properly profiled for compatibility, all in the name of making me an M.R.S.