Roses – Scent of a Woman

Namsta Naomi J. – Yaadinfo Contributor    [ Website ]

Roses - A Distinctive Little Anecdote

Thank Gawd it’s Friday!

Date: Friday 26th September 2008
Location: Leicester Train Station
Time: 18:53

Where’s the supposed light at the end of this tunnel man? Leafing through another chapter of my Strategic Management & Business Analysis textbook, I couldn’t concentrate. If I had to hold my breath a moment longer, I was liable to passing out. Rubbing my watery eyes, I tried to digest small chunks of information but any focus I had was preoccupied with my sense of smell.

“Phwoooooah! Man needs to bleach his pits fam, he proper tinks’ poooooooooh!” screeched some wretch of a tomboy to her friend.
“Innit doh, talk about renk,” her friend replied louder than necessary, whilst pinching her mammoth sized nostrils together.

It wasn’t even like the jumped-up little ragamuffins were exaggerating. The elderly guy seated to our left smelt like he’d been living in a sewage tank, bless him. Seemingly oblivious to the pollution he was causing, the old man hummed every so often whilst exhibiting a toothless grin to the mortified passengers.
“Thank the lawd my pashmina doubles up as a blimming gas mask,” I muttered.

Just as the train came to a standstill at Holborn station, the doors couldn’t open fast enough. In an effort to flee the nauseating fumes, passengers on and off the train suddenly found themselves embroiled in a rugby-style scrum.
“Oh my days, it ain’t about losing one of my shoes man. I’ve only just bought them!” I yelped, gripping onto some random builder’s spirit level for dear life.
“Please allow passengers off the train before boarding. Mind the closing doors. Stand clear of the doors please,” the tubby stationmaster announced through his megaphone.
“Wow, I didn’t think I was gonna make it then,” I sighed with relief whilst practically leaping up the escalators.

Bank of Swagger!
Bank of Swagger Statement

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With just a lilac pashmina covering the shoulders of my ruffled, cream blouse and black shift dress, I cantered my way through the ticket barriers. After a bloody long afternoon saturated with reading a zillion and one policy wordings, analysing one of our new client’s countless risk assessments and then having to listen to Jade ramble on and on about her how her man Jerome was getting on her frigging nerves for close to an hour; I was more than ready to get my Friday night swagger on.
“Typical, he’s ten minutes late already,” I scowled, tapping my feet in frustration.
Lingering outside the station entrance, my eyes strayed across the sparkly Guess watch sitting on my left wrist.
What’s taking him so long man? My heartbeat was thudding so loud it drowned out the alarming noise of the police car sirens whizzing up and down High Holborn. It so felt like I had been whipped by a sweet case of first date jitters all over again.
“There he is!” I screeched like a (geeky) school girl a moment later.
Bubbles of excitement popped and fizzed in my belly.
“M-8-R-1-0-N…here he comes.”

MarciaI could recognise that personal number plate a mile off. The champagne coloured Mercedes Kompressor drew closer to the curb, whilst my poor little ticker literally catapulted into my mouth. Here goes. Drawing a deep breath, I fiercely swung my hips and strutted in the direction of the car, hoping that (maybe) passers- by were watching me (yes Mz. Bumper Queen) in the process. Trust me. These childbearing beauties had enough power to make the average Joe lose sight of his senses if he wasn’t careful.
The heady whiff of Marlon’s signature Armani cologne, complimented by cocoa butter struck me as soon I sat in the cream leather passenger seat. It took only the slightest sniff of that guy’s aroma, and spine tingling shudders zipped right through me.
“Yo. What’s going on Marcia?”
Marlon reached over and planted a juicy kiss on my lips. Just the sheer brush of those succulent things against my skin and my body was already slithering into meltdown.
“Nuf..nuffin much…” I stuttered, before suggestively pressing my lips together.
Style it out Marcia. Style it out.
“Mmmm you smell proper nice,” Marlon commented before sliding the gear stick into first.
No really…..What kinda’ foolishness is that Mr Reid? You done know that me smelling nice is a standard procedure. Besides, I didn’t spray half a bottle of Jo Malone in every nook and cranny for no reason you know.
“Don’t I always,” I laughed as a sly smile crept across my face.

[Continues Next Week…]

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