The next morning, a Saturday, I told Glen that we were going to the nearby shopping mall, the Harbour. Decked in my Jimmy Choo pumps, my hair beautifully washed, conditioned and flat ironed, and my nails newly manicured with the latest gel, we were off to the mall.
‘Sweetie I’m going to La Sexy. Please go and sit at the coffee shop over there. I will ask the attendant to call you when I am ready.’ Glen meekly did as he was told.
I worked my way quickly through the racks of designer lingerie. Lace, silk, velvet - I piled my arms high with erotically textured garments, and made my way sexily towards the changing cubicles. Once inside I began to furiously try on one item after another, flinging the ensembles haphazardly to the floor in my quest to find the piece that would enchant and please my lover. Finally I decided on a slinky Victoria’s Secret number in black lycra and sequins that hugged my contours and praised my curves. ‘This will make Glen want me, desire me and ask me to be his wife,’ I thought.
In a high, querulous voice I called the attendant, ‘Can you please call my boyfriend, he is sitting over there in the coffee shop. He is wearing a black leather jacket’.
While waiting, I quickly reapplied my glossy lipstick and sprayed myself with the perfume wand that I always carried in my bag. I leaned alluringly by the door as I heard footsteps.
‘Hello darling what do you think of this?’ I called. The next minute the door opened and to my shame and embarrassment, I looked straight into the horrified eyes of an extremely obese man with a bulbous nose, a perfect stranger in a black leather jacket. This was not my Glenny. The silly attendant had called the wrong man.
‘Uh nice choice’, the man muttered, his face a deep shade of pink as he slunk away.