Bare Minimum

“What the hell is she wearing?”  The woman quizzed with a sneer. I knew the question was rhetorical. But you couldn’t help but fish through your brain to retrieve many probable reasons. It could be she is of loose morals, or maybe she was ill advised, maybe when she looks into her magic mirror she sees fictional clothing. Or maybe, just maybe she has no clothes or worse no friends or family. I know it sounds ridiculous, but if you were there you would ask yourself the same questions as possible solutions to what looked like road carnage.  

It was an ice cold morning and everyone was waiting to get matatus to work and Miss “Thang” emerged from the dusty road leading to the bus stop. I was day dreaming, as always, hoping for a decent fare price. I could hear a bit of commotion around me; exclamations abound with an occasional taunt from men. I did not care much for it, it happens to the best of the female species in my neck of the woods. What drew my attention was when the old man next to me exclaimed. “Ei! Ei! This is too much! Nini hii?” then the lady’s question emerged followed by a barrage of others.

There the woman was, well-endowed and very exposed. Her face looked like a clown and her child decided to have a field day on it. She had foundation that was layered like mud on a pottery wheel, her face looked orange. You could tell her complexion was something closer to Alek Wek’s, with patches of olive unevenly spread. Her fake lashes did not sit right and her eye shadow was a bright purple, with a gross teal blush. Her lips looked like bees were stuck to it. She tried gold and black stripes that were uneven. Then her garb! Lord save us!

Her bosom was yelling to break free from the ill-fitting bra that was hiked at the back. If there was a campaign to cure world hunger with pure breastfeeding; she would be the campaign poster. Her bosom was barely covered and her cleavage looked like it had swallowed her necklace never to return.  Her bottoms made her look like an engorged tick ready to burst from too much blood. I am not sure whether it was designed to be that translucent. Orange seemed the day’s theme because her knickers were you guessed it; orange. I walked toward her feeling sorry and greeted her. She was curt and chewed gum with a foolish arrogance. But someone had to be a friend to her. What happened afterwards scarred many for months to come. 

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