IT’S A STORY MY MOTHER likes to tell. One evening many years ago, she spotted a pretty dress in a boutique window and knew she wanted to take a closer look. She had her Pretty Woman moment when a salesgirl told her it was too expensive after giving her a quick look. What she and the other girls didn’t know is that Mum had just got a salary advance and while she hadn’t planned for any retail therapy that day, she had a burning urge to fight back. The ‘little’ girls as she referred to them needed a lesson in treating people with respect and she was ready to give them one. Pulling out her purse, she defiantly asked how much the dress cost. Suddenly, she had their attention and everybody was eager to help her try it on. Minutes later, she walked out with the dress, feeling like she had just conquered the world but at the same time wondering how in the world she was going to pay for one of her kids’ eye operation, the reason she had sought the salary advance. Like any mother, she figured something out later and tough as pulling that off was, I’m glad she stood up for herself. That said, I wouldn’t have done what Mum did back then. I have this thing about ‘punishing’ people who disrespect me and I decided a long time ago that they will not get their hands on my hard-earned mafaranga. If I ask about a handbag or pair of shoes and some all-knowing guy or girl tells me it’s too expensive like I can’t decide that for myself, I’ll walk out even if that means it will only affirm their assumption of my inability to afford a particular item. I hate it when people judge you by the way you dress, where you live, the car you drive, or don’t for that matter. While it’s true that these things can paint a pretty good picture of the kind of person you are, they’re in no way absolute indicators of what you are worth. Appearances can indeed be deceiving. Twice last week, two guys offered to buy me lunch, not because they like me or wanted to do it out of the goodness of their hearts but because they thought I was too broke. Being the end of month and all, they thought poor Sophie needed a handout. One guy found me in office during the lunch break and asked why I hadn’t gone out. I told him I had to submit a report or risk the wrath of the boss but he didn’t believe me, which is why he offered to buy me lunch. The second time, I was ‘caught’ snacking at my desk, again during lunch time. “Oh Sophie, let’s go for lunch. I’ll pay,” my colleague Peter said, with a look that suggested he felt my pain. For some reason, I got so angry and flat out asked why he just assumed I had no money. I know I was right about his condescending remark because he didn’t say another word. Now don’t get me wrong. I appreciate treats every now and then and there have been times I have skipped lunch because I simply couldn’t afford it. And yes, I have also snacked many times to save a few francs. Everybody has those moments. What I don’t like is people assuming it’s a money issue every time. Believe it or not, sometimes I just want cake, bread, an apple, groundnuts or whatever else and a cup of tea and surely, I should be allowed to enjoy exactly that without being written off as broke.
