They Stock Women at the Accra Mall

Shoprite is a great place to meet a girl in the City of Accra :-). It is gaining on an adroit art to drift among the ample aisles, vacationing on the exotic food smells, and lingering for the grasping encounter with the lone, mesmeric mademoiselle. The double-dyed tale of how they glitter through the food-and-consumables displays will be spun on another glorious day.

At 8 p.m., my best friend and I crashed into the mall to buy a single, little body sweetener, when we laid our hungry eyes on her. She was beautifully brown and frightfully fresh-looking for that time of a working day. In the brilliant lights, it might as well have been 8 a.m. We forgot the dainty deodorant, and ghosted around after her, watching her lovely, slightly sidewise-inclined body hovercraft over the floor tiles. The blemish of the bend set an outre accent in her eloquent hips, as she blithely bewitched us to careless curiosity. We wandered so close that I could smell her every exciting essence of creature womanhood.

In a happy snafu, she dropped her handbag, and a gripping story spilled out on the floor :-). A slim, black leather diary with fine, gold-leaf pages, three slender cell phones and a vermilion necktie. As she bent over to retrieve the betraying objects, the wonderfully warm and open sight was excitement enough to cap a voyeur’s night of delight, but out tumbled more girl stuff :-) – a nude pink lipstick, a black pair of glasses, a shiny, silver cigarette lighter and a huge gold pen.

Her entire life story was spewing out on the public floor. We, the twin-watchers, rabbitted here and there, gathering up ice-breaking bric-a-brac to hand back to her: a Dictaphone, pills for the heart and a fragrance bottle (Escada Magnetism for men) :-).

So, what was she? We had scrumptiously stalked her for ten minutes, and were certain that she was not a sleazy shoplifter. She may have been some middle-level executive or a secretary (cell phones, Dictaphone, heart pills for her boss) or she may have been sleeping with her boss, an old man (heart pills, lighter, gold pen, necktie. Or did she have a cardiac condition at her young age? If she was having a tryst with a geriatric, why was the fragrance Escada Magnetism and not Old Spice?

I should have loved to stay a little longer to let my second sight ravish and enjoy her some more, but she coyly snatched the bottle out of my outstretched hand, turning crimson in the face, and turning on her lovely heels, away from me. Then, I reckoned that it was time to go home.