A Closed Mouth Don’t Get Fed (And Other Clichés)

This is about to be some serious stream of consciousness writing right here, so my apologies. So, last weekend I learned the true meaning of ‘A Closed Mouth Don’t Get Fed.’ You don’t need to know the sordid details, the basics involve: me, a man I was interested in (please notice the past tense) and me not speaking or saying my mind.

So, for a first date, I went to see Tyler Perry’s Why Did I get Married? No, not with the man I was interested in, with someone else, a filler let’s say. So when the movie was over, and the filler and I were having drinks, filler says to me, “did you identify with any character in the movie?” Now, my first inclination was to be like “hell no, I don’t know you, I’m not really feeling you and I don’t feel like sharing that much about myself…” But you know I realized that he was trying to be nice and get to know me, so I played along and said, “well maybe Janet Jackson’s character…” Now I don’t want to “spoil” the movie for you five Black people who haven’t seen it, but basically Janet’s character Patty referred to herself as ‘Perfect Patty’ and was upset that she had made a crucial mistake that changed the course of she and her husband’s life. And I completely understood that.

All my life I have done everything the way I “should”, more so what has always been expected of me. I did well in high school, went to college, graduated on time and with honors. Granted I lost my way for awhile and was bartending and waitressing to make ends meet, but no one expected that would last, and I got back on track like I was supposed to and went to graduate school and got myself a ‘good job.’ And I appear to have it all together, people look at me and want to be me, ok well not me per se, but they want to know how to replicate my accomplishments and success…So, see ‘Perfect Rum Punch…’ It doesn’t have the same effect as Perfect Patty, but I’m sure you understand. But after this past weekend I had to come to grips with the fact that I have some of Jill Scott’s character in me as well and that has me re-evaluating who I am and who I want to be.

Now Jill Scott’s character, Sheila was ‘meek’ (for lack of a better word), she was overweight and sad and accepted everything as it came to her, never challenging her displeasure with her husband, her body or her life. In essence, she had settled and was content to be there. Oh, she may have seemed unhappy, but she didn’t want to change her situation, so she was content and complacent where she was.

So this leads me to last weekend where I found myself with a man who I was interested in (notice the past tense) and I thought we were on the same page. Well I was quite mistaken and learned the hard way that we weren’t. Now I’m not saying I was completely off base, he was feeling me, but he didn’t want to explore taking it to a relationship level. And since I am in the business of finding my husband, keep it moving I must and did.

But when he first told me this, I was upset, pissed the fuck off…Why were we talking on the regular, seeing each other, etc, etc if he didn’t want to be with me? Well apparently it’s because he viewed us as “friends”, nothing more and nothing less. And if I had spoken up, been a woman about mine and said, “boy, I like you, so what is we gon’ do?’, then this whole situation could have been avoided. And in that moment, well maybe not in that moment because I was pissed the fuck off, but the next morning, I realized that I had been content and complacent. Content and complacent with hoping that he wanted what I wanted but afraid to find out because then if he didn’t want what I wanted, what would I do then? I was waiting and wanting him to call the shots, ready to follow his lead, letting him choose me (shouts out to Mint Julep’s post) instead of being honest with both him and me about what I wanted. Period. What I wanted.

But instead of being upset with the situation, I have decided to take the Pollyanna approach, take lemons and make lemonade, if you will. You see, I want to learn from this situation and learn how I can improve myself, through self-evaluation and this blog though, because I can’t afford therapy. As “Perfect Rum Punch”, it’s hard for me to admit and accept my flaws or that I don’t know everything that I feel I’m supposed to at this age. It’s hard for me to accept the fact that there’s so much of Sheila inside of me. I am supposed to be Strong Black Woman, hear me roar. But I’m not all the time. Not when it’s supposed to count. I can be afraid of opening my damn mouth to vocalize my feelings, my needs and my wants. And that’s hard to admit to myself, but it’s the first step to changing my behavior. I mean, a sista has got to eat, right?

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Fridays!