Photo credit: Issa Rae’s “Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl”
What’s the perfect age to stop giving a flying f@#k about who’s edges are laid the flattest? Or to be checking up on who’s got a new install so you can up your weave ante (let’s thank the heavens for layaway)? Or to stop outstepping other females with the heel heights and the face contouring and the bodycon dress-up?
Will there ever be a day where I can walk out my house in flats, a T-shirt and sweats and still be stunting on them hoes? (Sorry, I really hate using misogynistic language towards females, but that line wouldn’t have sounded as punchy without “hoes”.)
As per my last post, you know that the pickings of eligible, God-fearing, husband-and-not-just-my-baby-daddy options are few. This has caused an unusually high volume of petty ass females who will go to the ends of your edges and pull real hard to ensure you don’t succeed at stealing their bae. (Wedding) bands will make a church female put on her hooker heels and dance a dirty dance just to spite her fellow sister in the Lord.
I’m a grown woman, so I refuse to succumb to such squabble – generally. At least when it doesn’t require passing on the Brian J. White lookalike with the six-figure job and John 3:16 tatted on his grand biceps.
I’m looking forward to the day that all woman, regardless of color or creed, will simply accept the fact their “man” (read “good-looking brother with no ring on his left hand”) chose me, and will still invite me to brunch. Friends should never let friends go a Sunday without bottomless mimosas.