I was hanging my laundry on a clothesline in front of my house when this woman walked up to me. I’d seen her in the estate, but I’d never spoken to her until that day. She asked, “Do you know me?” I shook my head because, of course, seeing someone around doesn’t equal knowing them.

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She pointed at her house, two blocks from mine, and said, “That’s where I live. Are you aware there are married men around here? Cover up. You’re becoming a temptation. Unless that’s your intention.”

I was stunned. I stood speechless, looking at her. She continued, “Yeah, I’ve said it. They say it to themselves, but I’m saying it to your face. If you wear long clothes, your laundry would dry just as well.”

I burst out laughing. That was the only way to bring myself under control. She turned and started walking to her house.

What was I wearing? A pair of shorts and a tank top. The same outfit I’d worn every Saturday morning when I was doing my laundry. I don’t walk around in them, and even if I do, it’s only around the neighborhood, not outside. I felt attacked, but I didn’t attack back. She would drive past my place and give me mean looks.

So I targeted her husband, just to be close to him. I’d never spoken to him until that day I asked him for a lift, which he gladly offered. We talked. We exchanged contacts. He told me he could be a friend. So on Sunday mornings, I’d stand by the road and wait for them. I would be in that same pair of shorts. I would wave at him while his wife watched. I did it about four times until I realized the uneasiness in the man’s response.

One early morning, I heard a knock. It was the man’s wife. She started ranting, “Your devilish ways can’t work on my family. Stay away from us. You’re not friends with anyone in my family. Stop talking to my husband.”

It was my turn to address her properly. I gave it to her straight and told her to stop policing people’s clothes instead of addressing the issues in her marriage. “I don’t dress for your husband. He’s too old for me. I don’t even do married men. The next time you come here again, I swear I’ll make you look so horrible your husband won’t look at you again. Try me.”

I pushed her out of my compound while neighbors wondered what was happening. Days later, her husband called to apologize. I heard her ranting in the background, screaming that I was a “devil’s agent” and that was why I wasn’t married at my age. I thanked the man and hung up.

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She has changed her route. She doesn’t drive past the road in front of my house but rather takes the long way to avoid seeing me. In her next life, she’ll mind her business and concentrate on her marriage instead of confronting innocent ladies in comfortable clothes.

—Alice

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