Should I Settle Too?

All this time I have been waiting for Prince Charming. In the meantime, I have been entertaining and dodging frogs as a temporary distraction. I know what to expect from frogs. I expect for them to be slimy and to leap in and out my vagina, mouth, and/or anus life. I’m not saying that I’ve been holding out for an Idris Elba or Channing Tatum but I’m sure as hell don’t want a Ray-Ray. A Ray-Ray is unemployed, misogynistic, and has several baby mamas and felonies. No sir or ma’am! I don’t care how big his dick may be. Wait…hold up. How big is it again???

What if the perfect man doesn’t exist? I’m sure as hell not the perfect woman. I’m bipolar, overweight, and financially unstable. Sure I have positive attributes but who gives a rat’s ass if you’re not a video vixen or a Victoria Secrets model.

Should I just settle for a Ray-Ray? Maybe Ray-Ray is a really nice guy but just a product of his environment. Besides, it seems like most of the women I know are settling anyway. Should I just say “fuck it” and join the crowd? It’s not like I’m not used to dealing with bs anyway. At least I won’t go to the movies alone anymore and the other side of the bed will be occupied at night.

I have a friend who is shacking up with an unemployed drug addict who doubles as her man bitch. Of course he disappears on binges from time to time but at least he cooks, shaves her va jay jay, gives her pedicures, and babysits the kids. I have a relative that is involved with a verbally abusive man who is also on the down low. Of course he may be sending out sexually suggestive messages to other men and claims he’s not gay or bi but at least he lets her sleep on his sister’s floor (after he destroyed her furniture and got her evicted). I know a wife who is verbally abused by her husband on a regularly. Of course he’s a big ole meanie who is suspected of cheating but he appears to be good father and provider. I know another wife who got married for financial security. Of course she may not be in love with her husband but at least she got a boob job and is always going on cruises and vacations. Actually, her situation doesn’t sound too bad after all. Sign me up for that…minus the boob job. I have enough to feed an entire village!

Is this what relationships have become? Does true love even exist anymore? Are people settling for less because they don’t want to be alone or broke? I’m not scared of lonely like Beyoncé but I’m sure quite sick of it.

Well, since you asked Mr. Wonka...

Don’t mind if I do Mr. Wonka. What an awesome suggestion!

Honestly, I thought my chances would improve if I dated outside my race. Wrong! Soothed fetishized me and used me as his kinky sex guinea pig. Although our BDSM experiences were quite illuminating, liberating, and hot, I was never a romantic option for him. He told me in so many words that a Black woman wasn’t who he envisioned as a potential mate. Although Intrigue didn’t fetishized me, he didn’t come around often and demanded discretion. Silver Fox is different but I don’t know if he’ll ever pick up what I’m dropping. 

The lack of a mate is troublesome to my mother. She won’t stop hinting about my age and my need to get pregnant. She is always recommending some “get your body ready for a baby” supplements that she’s seen in the newspaper or television. She has even attempted to hook me up with a guy I dated as a teen. The One Who Was Troubled introduced me to cunnilingus and orgasms in the spring of ‘94. Perhaps a 14 year old should have been hanging out at the mall instead of having orgasms but it is what it is. Although he was a sweet person, he suffered from a mental illness and was intellectually impaired. I visited him in psych facility after a failed suicide attempt. We drifted apart eventually. As a 14 year old, I wasn’t equipped to deal with his issues. I’ve always known that he carried a torch for me. Throughout the years I’ve managed to let him down gently. His wife passed away in recent years and he has two little girls. He gave my sister his phone number and wants me to call.

Should I call?

Should I settle?

Will I Ever Go On a Good Date?!

A few weeks ago, I met a guy in between classes on campus. Let’s call him The One I Met in the Elevator. He politely greeted me and wanted to know if I was a professor. (He’s actually the third person who has mistaken me for a professor. Hmm. Maybe I need a makeover.) He was handsome, dressed professionally and spoke with a smooth and sexy accent. I’m a sucker for indigenous accents! He told me that I was beautiful. Yeah, it was a little cheesy but it made me blush. We exchanged numbers when the elevator arrived to my floor. I squealed like a schoolgirl in my head. I was on cloud 9 for the rest of the day!

A week later, we went on our first date. The universe gave me signs to cancel the date beforehand. Everything was going wrong. Every outfit I tried on made me look like a fat cow. Granted, I am full figured but I looked extra fluffy y’all! My car wouldn’t start. My neighbor tried to boost my car with no luck. I was an hour and a half late! I should have called the date off but I didn’t. He seemed like a nice guy from our conversations on the phone. I also felt bad for making him wait so long. He offered to pick me up and I obliged.

In the restaurant parking lot, he got way too friendly with his hands. The nice sweet guy I met in the elevator was turning into a major pervert! He wouldn’t stop complimenting my breasts. “African men love big women. You got it. You got it all.” I felt uncomfortable but I didn’t want to cause a ruckus. What if he left me on the side of the road? What if he became violent? What if he put me in a dried out well and told me, “It rubs the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again.”

He kept grabbing at my breasts. I pushed him away as politely as I could. After several minutes of this, we headed inside the restaurant.

After we ordered our entrees, the awkwardness ensued. To break the ice, he asked about my last relationship and why it failed. It seemed like a strange question for a first date but I played along to break the silence. When I posed the question to him, he went on a tangent about his ex-girlfriend. His demeanor changed. I saw the anger in his eyes. He said that he gave her everything and she cheated on him. He also said that he wasn’t looking for anything serious—just fun. I’ve heard this song and dance before. Fun=sex. Lucky me! These types always flock to me. Strike 1.

I decided (in my head) that this would be the last time we would meet. He did another strange thing. He tried to go through in my purse! Who does that?! Strike 2! Religion became the next topic of conversation. He told me that he was heavily involved in the church and wanted to know about my religious beliefs. After my response, the date went downhill.

As I braced myself for the backlash I said, “I don’t believe in religion.”

“So you hate Jesus?” he said in a judgmental tone.

“No…I don’t hate Jesus. I’m spiritual…just not religious.”

He gave a 30-40 minute sermon mocking and insulting my lack of beliefs. He also told me that by the end of the date, I would convert to Christianity! By this time, I had enough! I started to feel sick to my stomach. Strike 3! I excused myself to the restroom to calm down and to figure out an exit strategy. Damn! There wasn’t a window like the movies. But then again, none of this voluptuousness would fit anyway. Ha! And I did not bring enough money for cab fare!

I decided to put on my big girl panties! Ok…they were more like medium girl panties. I told him that I wanted to leave because I wasn’t feeling well. He took care of the check and tried to fondle me again inside his vehicle. This time around, I was very stern with him. He found my behavior comical.

“So you’re mad at me now,” he said as he tried to contain his laughter.

“It’s been a long day. I just want to go home.”

“But I can’t drive home like this. You got me so horny. You’re not horny?”

“No. I’m tired. Just want to go home.”

“I’m tired too. Maybe we can get a hotel room?”

“No thanks. Take me home please.”

When we arrived to my apartment, he wanted to know if he could stay for an hour. I declined. Then he suggested 30 minutes. Again, I declined. Then he said the dumbest shit ever.

“I have to hug and kiss you inside your living room. Please. Just 10 minutes. It would make my night.”

I slammed his truck door and went upstairs.

I haven’t heard nor seen him since.

By the way, my car started up the next morning. Perhaps the universe was trying to tell me something.