About three months ago, a man carrying a large black garbage bag hesitantly approached the veranda of my apartment. We lived underneath the Open Society Institute in West Africa and are constantly mistaken for an office--to the point where suited men and high-heeled women have walked into our living room while we, in pajamas, are breakfast. So I shooed him away, thinking he was mistaken. "I sell underwear," he said softly as he turned and left.
It took me 30 seconds to realize the mistake I was making. I ran down the stairs. "Come back!" I called after him. "I changed my mind."
Since then, Stephen has been bringing me Chinese knock-offs of the latest lingerie fashions, all for $1. His underwear is colorful and creative and his bras fit wonderfully. Also, he is shy and discreet--qualities I value in a purveyor of intimate apparel. As a loyal Victoria's Secret shopper who is starting to enjoy buying local, it is wonderful to have a monthly bill of $9 instead of $90. (Not that, you know, it ever got to that.)
So, in the interest of my ladies in Monrovia, he can be summoned to your house by calling 06-20-52-20. But I get dibs. And sorry, no photos with this post. I'll save them for Elizabeth the Tailor.