My alarm shrills. It is 6:00am and it’s a Saturday. Time for my early morning work- out. I make my naked self out of the bed to the mirror standing graciously beside my wardrobe.
‘Good morning Cara’, I say focusing more on the full mounds that graciously adorn my chest than on anything else. Yes, that has got to be the most beautiful part of my body, the one I love most and I have a name for her too. 
Not even my face that holds the biggest pair of sleepy light brown eyes, small pointed nose and full grown lips can beat it. In one swift distracting movement, I change into my sweatpant and a spaghetti top, grab my phones and debit cards and tuck my earpiece in both ears to the gentle assault of ‘Indie Arie’s Brown skin’ and a couple of my other favourites.
In another hour or so, I am at the Major Store to pick out a couple of weekend needs. I am oblivious to the people staring down at me like sex starved maniacs. Attendants, male, standing on their toes to be at my service. 
Ah! I just smile them away. I pick out 3 packets of Pringles, 1 American Chocolate Cookies, a box of Eclairs with honey chocolate centre, wine, tampons, and errrm… Yes, one more packet of chocolate cookies. 
Bimpe, my younger sister promised she’d be visiting and I won’t have her zap my fridge to nothingness.
Satisfied, although very certain there’s one more thing I’m missing out, I bound off to the cashiers’. 
There are two people before me on the queue. One woman with a kid, and a man whose fragile frame promises he’s no less than 80. 
I busy myself with my Blackberry phone as I set my basket of purchase down. It seems they will take a minute or two. There’s Bimpe’s chat yapping on about how delighted she is to finally come check my new house. 
I smile and reply her with a ‘don’t get any ideas to ransack my very existence’ smiley. The closest I could get to it was the ‘eyelashes’. She loves to shop off my belongings, a very annoying yet lovable thing. 
She replies with a laugh and we chat on about other things. There’s a couple more chats but I scroll to Zaras’, a colleague and ‘well-um-friend’. She says there’s a small birthday party at hers’ on Sunday. I am surprised. 
Is it her birthday tomorrow? Oh my! What kind of friend doesn’t remember a friends’ birthday- a ‘well-um-type’ my subconscious replies with a smirk on her face. Whatever mhan! I turn to make out of the queue to get her a birthday gift when I distractedly bump into this long standing being, my most prized asset, Cara, assuaging his belly.
Yes. He’s long alright, I think to myself again. I tilt my head to smile an apology into his face. He is gorgeous and his face is shmuck stuck in my breasts. 
He probably won’t get over that bump in another two days. My smile widens. I appraise him in a nanosecond. I am sure girls would whimper at his manly sight, talk less of his boring stare that it stirs him when I say ‘I am sorry’ totally unruffled by his charm. 
Without awaiting his reply, I bound off to the perfume section where I pick out ‘Flower by Kenzo’ for the hopeless romantic and hopes she likes it.
(To be Continued) ‎
Photo Credit: 
Damore Ali is a poet, short story writer and blogger. She has been published on several online forums including Naija ‎Stories. She is an accountant by training and a lover of good music. Damore also goes by the name Dr. 2103. She blogs at
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