Picture it: Valentine's Day, 2018. The wig is perfectly placed, in place. The unit was so on point, someone swore it was a sew-in. (Mainstream Americans, this is a good thing, trust me on this. Keep reading!) So glad I put in a few extra minutes into my face. The highlighter was poppin' as it seemed to enhance my cheekbones for the evening. Of course, a red lip for V'day. There is no other way to wear a lip on that day. #facts.
The point of heading out that night was not to meet men, but I did. He happened to be the friend of one of the summer dates from last July...
The friend interrupted me and my summer-fine brown tan while I was writing in the laptop for a client. I guess sitting in front of a wine store with a glass of Riesling made it look like I wasn't working, and gave old boy the okay to bother me: "Can I ask you a question, from a lady's perspective?"
*big sigh*
But I knew my answer would lead to a second glass of wine, so I answered. I can't recall what the question was, but it was something one would find in any given Facebook relationship group. Regardless of its simplicity fifteen minutes later, I had a date for that following Friday thanks to the advice I'd given.
Problem: he wore a hat when I met him, but met me for date night without it. He looked like a broke-azz George Jefferson without the swag. I wasn't about to be no Weezy baby, so I drank two glasses of vodka and tonic water and was out. Never saw the mofo since...until V'day night '18 at Bar Louie.
I couldn't help but laugh when I looked up from my martini to notice it was him in the short flesh talking to my homegirl, even asking her out! So damn petty but whatever, since I done forgot about his short-azz and the only name I know for him is George. His name is George, dammit.
Oh, it gets better.
His much-bigger and better-looking friend walks over to me on his way out of Bar Louie and asks for my number. I didn't get why it took him about two hours to speak but he's a light-skinned teddy bear. I figured one phone call wouldn't kill me.
It did kill me, slowly.
We talked the usual why-are-you-single stuff that following night. His comprehension on my wanting to get married ONE DAY and not TO-DAY -- or lack thereof -- made me get off the phone because I had "something to take care of before bed". I mean, I knew it was time to hang up when I made a hand signal for the number ONE in front of my phone's screen. Face it, dolls, the word "marriage", regardless of the context, scares the whole shit out of males. Clearly.
So that was February 14th...
Fast forward to Saturday, the 17th. A rainy, uneventful weekend was well underway. Suddenly, my new friend of a month reached out and I headed out to his beautiful abode for liquor and pre-NBA All Star Game fare. We drank, laughed our azzes off at Good Times reruns -- he'd DVR'ed several post-James Evans episodes, mind you -- and...just like that, the drought is over. Yep. He saw what brown can do for him.
To be continued...
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