As yet another Valentine’s Day rears its [ugly, commercial, holiday-not-meant-for-me-it-seems, *feel free
to throw in your descriptor here*] head I am forced, yet again, to
do what I have been doing for quite some time: queue up Single Ladies. Not because I’m feeling all empowered about not having a sole
to split rent or brunch checks with, but I’m kinda feeling powerless because I DON’T
HAVE ANYONE TO SPLIT RENT OR BRUNCH CHECKS WITH! I mean, what is empowering about
paying winter PG&E bills all by yourself? Right. Nothing.
In my drowning (and I can’t swim because I’m
totes a stereotype) in all that is something I should have made my peace with a
decade or so ago, I hear the words of a dear friend attempting to drown out the
noise of well, her aloneness (maybe, if left unchecked) beginning to turn into loneliness:
I’m going to spend this time working on the
things that I feel don’t make me a good mate for someone else.
 |
| Image taken from YouTube 2018. OWN Network. |
What in the acknowledging your own issues and constructive
self-critique is that? Who in the hell left the gate open at Iyanla’s house? Beloved,
please go’on over there and close it shut. Lock it twice for good measure. I’m
glad my friend told me that over the phone, because if she had to look me in
the eye speaking those words, she would have witnessed the opened window to my
soul and all the ain’t shit-ness about me inside that well,
probably makes me a terrible mate for someone. (I’m really
great when you get to know me, sorta)
So imagine those words in the background in your mind and you,
for instance, not for real (actually what I am about to
describe for you is very real, but let’s pretend), you’re at a
social event and you see someone who could, um, how do you say, get it *shrugs while smirking* and you realize, or your friend Glen(livet) tells you that
you’re perfectly single to go ahead and get got. Somehow, through a twisting of
fate and your friend’s arm, (mostly your friend, but fate is
always on the clock so…) contact information exchanges happen. You’re that much closer
than you have been in a long time to getting got. Won’t He do it?
Then the background podcasting of your other friend plays and
you realize that maybe there are one or two or ten things you need to work on
before there is any got’n to get.
I hate my smart ass friends, yo. Hate them.
What happens next? Well, you feel hella convicted because that’s
what happens when someone opens a portal to your soul – you don’t use that exchanged
contact information at all. Sure, he didn’t reach out either, but like, you
have no qualms about making the first move because things like decorum and
manners are totally suggestions and well, you’re super intelligent (via books) so why take suggestions? You
didn’t do the thing that you are absolutely comfortable doing and you can’t
understand why. *queues up Brownstone*
Then the background podcasting of your friend plays and you
realize that maybe there are one or two or ten things preventing you from
sending that perfectly awkwardly constructed flirty text message.
Listen. This is not me telling you to do the right thing if
you’re feeling some kind of way about being single this upcoming Valentine’s
Day. Have you met me? When have I ever been on the right side of anything but a
Happy Hour invite? This is me totally sending out the proverbial chain letter
that I got a few weeks ago.
Good luck with it, homey. Also, you can’t send it back to me. #PayItForward
Happy Valentine’s Day. Unless you’re Mary J – then it ain’t too
happy.
No comments:
Post a Comment