Emelda made a new hair and looked very much different. She was walking with unusual confidence. Now and then, she looked at herself from toe to chest as though she was going for a beauty pageant and needed to validate herself before anybody else. She fixed long nails, something she rarely did; was it why she didn’t feel comfortable wearing it? As she walked down the market, she would always look at her nails and feel it didn’t just synch with every other opulent fitting in her body. Ben, Obinna or Donald would be wowed to see her new look and she could imagine them shower her some compliments and she would smile and do inyanga for them. She had done it intentionally, at least to attract more eyeballs on herself. For it was the desire of every woman, most women she would rather say, to look attractive and be able to get attention, men’s attention. This new look, she thought, she overdid it. Even her boss would not recognize her for she looked less simple than she ever did. Deep
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