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The widow who made the most of her dead husband’s money!

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By Candida
THE largest running retreat we had for some of the CEOs in the finance industry recently came to an end with a bang!

The venue of the retreat was one of the islands along the Lekki beach stretch and it was worth all the fuss and bother.

Since the area never boasts of any standard electricity, the two power generating sets behaved remarkably well. About twice, we’d arranged with some of the locals to provide fish barbecues, with freshly caught fish from the ocean for candidates’ relaxation and they all loved it.

The music was often good too. At the end of the retreat, we decided on a party where participants could invite only one guest – it would be too much of a squeeze if we planned for anything more elaborate. Bomma, an old friend, who lived in Lekki was to be my guest.

I’d visited her quite often during my free periods during the seminar and enjoyed first class hospitality – so I thought I should show my appreciation by inviting her.

She squealed with pleasure! Bomma is nearing 60 but you wouldn’t even guess it looking at her. One of the lucky ones to have inherited a fortune when her husband died a few years ago, she continues to enjoy the perks her dead husband’s money could provide. She never has to do a day’s work for the rest of her life.

She’s put some of the money to good use – she’s had quite a few nips and tucks and has just returned from abroad where she went for a boobs enhancement job. “I didn’t want bigger boobs,” she said cheekily, “I only want the ones I have to be firmer -and the surgeon did a good job,” like a flash, she undid her blouse and bra and showed me her new knockers.

I was green with envy-they looked like a thirty-year-old’s. “Want to touch them?” she asked. Cautiously, I touched her new wonders and told her they felt slightly harder. “Of course they should,” she replied. “There are implants in them and mine are the type you can pump up from time to time when you need touch-ups!”

Her boobs weren’t the only body parts she’s enhanced. “I make my money work for me and looking good gives me a lot of confidence,” she said, her face looking taunt and well made-up. “I believe I owe it to myself to make the most of what God gave me -I am someone special in my own right. Every woman owes it to herself to do the same – within bounds of her financial capability.

You run into friends and classmates and looking at them you can’t help wondering why they allowed themselves to fall apart that much. Running into scruffy, ageing women at parties in the company of their well-groomed husbands, I wince and think: ‘Why can’t they make the effort to at least match their husband’s appearance?’ What bugs me most are women with bushy eyebrows and greasy skin. If you can’t be bothered to fix simple things like that, you’re plain lazy, letting yourself go unnecessarily.

“I’m a member of a very expensive gym and work out a few times a week so I could look well-groomed. I keep my hair dyed and conditioned at the best salon. Each morning, I take time to assemble my outfit for the day and ensure my make-up is flawless throughout the day … “ I interrupted her once to let her realize not all of us were merry widows with cash in the banks here and abroad. She snapped that most house-wives could have some grooming regimes that cost next to nothing.

“They can go for walks if they can’t afford a gym,” she snorted, “and they could submit themselves to the capable hands of their daughters or friends who know a thing or two about local possibilities in make-up!” She didn’t disappoint me on the barbecue night either. Most of the participants’ wives showed up in the wrong outfits but Bomma came in cropped jewel-studded denim trousers and a skimpy but decent blouse.

Accessories were minimal and she oozed breeding.

The wives looked at her with distaste as if she were an alien, but you could see the men try to suck in their tummies and pump out their chests.

Kay was on his own and I promptly introduced the two of them, specifically asking Kay to look after her. Kay. if you’ll recall, is the Smart Alec I tried to fix up with Bose a few months back. He’d flatly refused to do anything beyond the ego-massaging I asked him to do. All he was interested in, he told me leeringly, was to have a rump with me! He stuck with Bomma like mud throughout the night and she flirted outrageously with him.

Kay must be at least 12 years younger than Bomma, but what’s age got to do with it? Since Bomma’s driver didn’t live in, I’d agree to drop her at her house on my way home but around midnight, she announced she was leaving. I made to fetch a few things so I could take her but she told me to relax, Kay had graciously agreed to take her.

He gave me a look -what-you’re-missing leer as he steered her towards the car park!
A few weeks later, I had a wedding reception to attend at the Lekki waterfront and decided to spend some time with Bomma before settling at the party. She was her well-groomed self as she let me in. And who should be sprawling on her expensive sofa but Kay, a glass of wine in his hand! “What are you doing here?” I hissed. “Kay’s been a God-sent,” Bomma interrupted.

“Shortly after that barbecue night. I had very terrible malaria and he virtually lived here, cooking for me and making sure I took my medicine!” I bet! “Did your cook leave?” I asked her. “Kay knows how to cook some dishes better than the cook. His pounded yam and vegetable soup is always delicious – his mum taught him how to cook. .. “

Kay looked like the proverbial cat who got the milk. “Bomma, can you fetch me my suitcase from the bedroom … “ he boomed. “Yes darling.” she answered, happily trotting upstairs to fetch the briefcase.

“Scraping the bottom of the barrel are we?” I sniffed at Kay. “What do you mean?” “Bomma is years older than you!” I told him. “Do you have any problem with that? She is sexier than girls decades younger than she is and knows how to make a man feel important. Hey,  are you jealous?”

The conceit of some men! For the one hour or so I spent with the two, they carried on as if I wasn’t really there. On the dining table, they finger-fed each other and were openly kissing. My goodness, the atmosphere was so sizzling that when I made to leave, I swear I could detect the relief on their faces!

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