Late Night Shopping SHELAGH MIDDLEHURST
Friday night at the mini-mart, cruising while buying the Cornflakes. Brenda could hardly believe it. She'd popped out for a pint of milk and a few odds and ends, leaving Doug slumped in front of the telly, a can of lager in his hand. Another exciting Friday night - the weekend starts here, Brenda thought, as she trotted down the road towards the lights of the Late Shop.
She pushed the door open and reached for a wire basket from the small stack near the entrance. Soft music was playing and the normally bright fluorescent lights were dimmed. Candles cast deep shadows and the air was heavy with incense. Oh, there's nice, Brenda smiled, must be some kind of promotion. I wonder what it is, candles, joss sticks or chocolate. Hope it's chocolate; I love it when they hand out freebies.
The muted atmosphere was relaxing and she gazed round, taking her time. Wish I'd known this was going on, I'd have made more of an effort. Mind you, some people have gone a bit over the top. Brenda widened her eyes as a woman wearing a tiara, five-inch heels and fishnet stockings wobbled past making her way to the cooked meats counter. The woman's coat flapped open. Brenda could have sworn she was wearing a bra and suspender belt - nothing else. Must be the dim lights, she told herself.
She was about to follow the woman to get a closer look when a tall, dark-haired chap approached, holding out his hand.
“Ah, you must be the last, I'll put the closed sign up. We wouldn't want to be disturbed, would we?” Brenda didn't know what was going on. He took her arm and smiled conspiratorially, “I'm looking forward to getting to know you better, don't think I've had the pleasure.”
He released his soft grip and wafted off towards the back of the shop while Brenda meandered up and down the aisles. It was so much more pleasant shopping in this atmosphere. The pace was slow, unhurried, all her senses soothed. She filled the wire basket with stuff she'd never normally dream of buying. Peaches in Brandy, how decadent. Mussels in Port, or what about, oysters in Guinness? She’d never noticed they sold this kind of thing in here. Brenda's eyes were everywhere.
The tall, dark-haired man reappeared and placed a glass of wine in her hand. So that's the promotion. “It's not chocolates, then?” she asked.
“Chocolate? You require chocolate? By all means.” And he wafted off again leaving her browsing, sipping her wine, filling her basket.
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