The sign above the mangoes read “$1.99 for 3”, attracting about a dozen housewives and Aunties all with an eye for bargain. They gathered around the crates, elbowing one another, frantically grabbing the fruit as if they were free of charge. Like a flock of hens, their feathers ruffled, squawking. As though some unknown catastrophe was fast approaching and they were scrambling to peck the last grains off the supermarket floor.
Fruits of my labour
My worst fear has been confirmed. I am an Auntie!