This dating sh*t sucks. Every time I hype myself up to get back in “the game” I get called on a technical. It’s worse than Paul Pierce or Ron Artest in the Finals, but like a championship team I show up every time. Even though I detest games, I understand the rules associated with dating and I play to win. On first dates I usually wear a dress, heels, make-up, the works, even though I’m generally a jeans and sneakers girl with a feminine streak. I’m not THAT girl who dresses up to shop for groceries, yet I’ve garnered great interest from a “grocery store boo” who cashiers the morning shift and is off on Sundays and Mondays. (YES, I know his schedule. Can’t let those freezer section fluesies get up on my pretend man!) I heart him because he’s seen me shopping for groceries at 6 a.m. and he still manages to compliment me. (Yo! I may not be roll-out-of-bed pretty, but I damn sure ain’t keep-the-lights-low ugly.) When I take time to beautify I believe it’s worth the extra effort. Such was the night I met my latest June-December romance.
In a strapless dress that would give any Kardashian a run for her money in a curve contest, I stepped out to attend a nighttime event. I parked my car at one of the many downtown buildings and trounced off to meet my party. Upon returning to the garage, the security guard engaged me in light and witty banter as I sought to reclaim my car. 1) I love to talk. 2) He was runway model handsome. 3) I’m a sucker for a guy in uniform. As I strolled to the elevator leaving sparks lingering in the air, I felt the gaze of longing and desire’s intense heat baring down the nape of my neck and the base of my spine… I pressed the button and secretly willed the elevator to arrive faster. My defenses weakened and I heard myself ask aloud, “How old are you?” He responded in one heartbeat, “Twenty-four. Why? Is that a problem?” Damn. Damn. Florida Evans, damn! How do I get myself into these predicaments?
Five months later, I’m sweeping up the pieces of his heart and my frustration for fooling with a youngun who was not ready for the likes of me. Or was it that I was not ready for the likes of him? You have to give pause when the guy you’re dating calls you at 1 a.m. to tell you he’s standing in the VIP next to T.I. It’s ONE A.M. AND I HAVE TO GO TO WORK IN THE MORNING! Who gives a @*$#*? That’s precisely what I uttered into my cell phone. Or maybe, just maybe, I had enough tact to think it but not say it. We’ll never know, will we? Why? Because I was ASLEEP when the call came through. Slightly delirious, I have been known to say ridiculous amounts of foolishness when awakened abruptly from sweet slumber. I have no idea what my immediate response was that night. I will tell you what I told him the next day. DON’T EVER call me again at 1 o’clock in the morning to tell me you’re standing next to a rapper/celebrity/fashion mogul or even a neighborhood bum. You had better be standing next to Jesus Christ to deem it necessary to wake me up and you had better be able to put him on the line to verify your whereabouts in glory. Needless to say, I was a little miffed. Again I say, maybe it was “I” who was not ready for the likes of “him”. I’m not a brute. I’m willing to admit when I may be wrong. You have to be honest about what you’re getting when you date a 24 year old. You’re in denial if you think it’s going to be anything other than great sex with cereal for breakfast.
So, I am back. Back in Stride Again as Maze would say. Back to the drawing board of life and love. God, I love a clean canvas! So fresh. So shiny and white. Representing all that is pure with dry erase marker potential beyond measure. I can color it any way I like. I can write high or I can write low. I can fill the board to the brink or I can write one line at a time. I love having choices. The possibilities are endless. Times like these make me wonder whether I’ll find happiness inside of a long-term, monogamous relationship. I’m picky and I like my space. Relationships are hard work. They require roll-up-your-sleeves fortitude and forsaking-all-others forgiveness. It’s a joint effort. Not everyone is a team player. I’ve discovered I’m not willing to be the little league coach coaxing you to victory every time. Sometimes I want to be the inexperienced batter who gets the 4-ball walk. The give and take, or the push and pull, are never guaranteed to equal 50/50. Those are the chances you take when you go “all in”. I have no doubt that I have what it takes to do my part, and then some, in helping a relationship to sail to a baby-you’re-the-bomb blissful sunset. However, I know that due to the fickle nature of human beings and a touch of stubbornness on my part, it may happen at a time and place where and when I am least expecting it, or maybe not at all. I’m cool with it, because I love my life. I’m cool with it, because I’m happy with me. And, if I’m ever not cool with it and I long for something more. I’ll say, “Pass the cocoa puffs, Love…” and wait to see what’s in store!
Persnickety Snit Self Adjustment: Don’t ever sell yourself a bill of goods that’s less than what you’re due… unless you’re willing to take a loss.