Lenny, the Wife and I

Something happened to me the other day at the local supermarket. I was entertaining at home and popped into Nakumatt to re-stock the vino.

Down the aisle past the detergents I spotted Lenny from two weeks before. I had met him on a Friday night at the pub in Westlands where it packs with Nairobi’s party animals and the party spills onto the sidewalk. It’s the colorful sort of place that professionals go after work to mix with other pros at work. Lenny athletic, dark and handsome stood out in his grey wool-mix suit while sitting at the bar. We soon struck conversation and, to cut a long but delightful story short, enjoyed breakfast together the following morning at my house.

Anyway back to Nakumatt and Lenny elegantly leading his shopping-trolley towards the bakery counter. As I come into his view I notice a young woman to his side pushing a pram with a baby asleep in it. Lenny notices me but in the next instant flashes the hardest look that freezes, ‘NO!’ I oblige and steer past Lenny, the young woman with the baby and the stacks of freshly-baked loaves.

Back in the car with my bottles of wine, I paused to think about what had just transpired. My thoughts were interrupted by the phone beeping. It was an sms from Lenny:

‘Sorry I am with the wife. You understand?’

It’s not a problem; it’s not just me with something to hide…