When Love Calls...

So I got home from a hard day’s work from a job that I hate. Well, I don't really hate it, but it's just not my passion. What is my passion? I'm not sure yet. I’m still trying to figure it out. So I got home from a hard day of work, from a job that I'm not in love with and gather the mail from the mailbox. And while I shuffled through the mail with one hand and tried to maneuver the huge screen door with the other, I see it, the dreaded Save the Date card.
“I gotta go mom,” I said cutting her off mid sentence.
“Ok, what are you going to do tomorrow?”
“I don’t know, sticking my head in an oven,” I said while staring hard at the two brown faces smiling up at me.
“Now don’t be so grim. Getting older is a part of life. Lord, don’t I know it.”
“Yeah mom, I know. Look I gotta go,” I said again as I held onto the card and searched through my huge, cluttered leather purse for my house keys. As I balanced mail, purse, and a brown paper bag that I made sure to hold on tight because I didn’t want to drop my rum, I listened to my mom drone on some more about the circle of life. Where the hell were my keys? I finally found them deep in the left hand corner of the purse and said, “Uh huh mom. Well I’m home now, so let me call you back.”
“Ok, honey. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Alright bye,” I said as I turned the key and dropped everything onto the couch. Everything except the Save the Date card. That I took with me as I made my way to the kitchen to make dinner.

Sure I knew that my best friend Cara who had vowed that she was never getting married, because the only good men out here were our daddies and our brothers, had gotten engaged to a wonderful man she met on some Black Ski Trip weekend. Funny every time I went on those ski trips there was always like a ten women to one man ratio. And the men were obvious losers. So, I would just post myself up at the all you can drink during this hellish weekend open bar and laugh at all the women looking for a love connection.

But the one time Cara goes on a ski trip, it's sponsored by the Alphas, so they were definitely rolling deep. Apparently the male to female ratio was practically even. And one afternoon Cara just happened to be falling down the slope (although knowing her it was probably all graceful and dainty and shit) when this fine brotha named Desmond came to her rescue. Apparently they laughed their way on down the hill and he asked her to join him for dinner. Then they spent the rest of the evening chatting in front of the roaring fire. Well that's the story she told me. For all I know she could have thrown it on him that first night after they got liquored up on free long island iced teas. No she's too classy for that. It was probably cosmopolitans.

Anyway. Check this man's stats: banker (notice I said banker, not teller), homeowner, no kids (so there's no baby mama drama), has a 401k, is HIV free, church going, parents have been married for 30+ years (so there are no stories about how he would spend weekends waiting on the curb for his daddy to roll by and pick him up in a Lincoln), and to top it all off he was smitten with Cara. They had an eight month courtship of fine dining, fancy gifts and trips overseas.

Three months into their courtship, all of us girlfriends were certain that Cara was the one for Desmond. Our hunches were confirmed a month later when Desmond's line brother revealed that Desmond used to be a dog, the love em and leave em type. Apparently he and everyone close to Desmond claimed that they had never seen him throw this much time and energy into a woman.

"That man is in love," line brother #25, because you know they never let anything from their pledging experience go, told me at a house party Desmond threw one night.

We were watching the two of them on the dance floor. The DJ had decided to play a set of slow jams, a rarity for our generation, and Desmond and Cara were grinding all up on each other as they gazed into each other's eyes. Desmond with his six feet plus self bent down and whispered something in Cara's ear and she giggled and then kissed him on the lips. I looked back at line #25 wondering if and when he was going to ask me to dance. I mean how crazy was it that two attractive people were standing next to each other watching other people dance? What a punk I thought. But I said instead, "Is he now?”
"Yup. He's going to ask her to marry him."
"Do you know this for a fact or are you just guessing," I questioned with furrowed eyebrows.
"A little bit of both."
"Shit," I muttered under my breath while pushing my cleavage even closer together, and smiling a little wider at line brother #25. It didn't make a difference. It turned out he had a girlfriend, not engaged yet, but clearly going that route. So there was definitely no need to remember his name. Or keep the business card he handed me at the end of the night. Black people just love to give their card to any and everybody. And the only reason I remember the twenty five is because he had a huge keloiding tattoo of the number on his nicely muscled left arm.

The day that Desmond finally popped the question (which was so elaborate I don't even have the energy to go into detail) Cara called me squealing and crying, saying, "Can you believe that I'm getting married?"
"Hell no," I said. Yes, I said it. Yes, just like that.
"What?"
"Hell no," I said again. But this time I threw in a little chuckle so she would think I was joking. I wasn't joking. She started laughing and I could sense her relief.
"He's just so wonderful. I never thought that I would be the type of person who would get married."
"I know."
"Well you know that if this means I can get married, you're def -" I cut her off before she could say, definitely next, definitely getting married, definitely gonna get hit by a bus and fall in love with the doctor who operates on you and brings you back from the brink of death.
"Yeah girl with God all things are possible. I'm so happy for you."

And I was happy. And I'm still happy. I mean I'm not a love hater. And she is my best friend. But dammit, she wasn't even looking. Although that seems to be the cliché constantly shouted from the rooftops to single women everywhere. That and 'just work on you and love will come.' But I'll deal with that another day. All I know is that if I hear: Girl, you gotta stop looking. Love will come when you least expect it, I swear I will let out a scream. Right now when I hear it I just smile and nod. Instead of saying what I really want to say:
"Stop looking huh? Well I have stopped looking. And yet I haven't been asked on a date in six months. I haven't been fucked in four months (yeah I know those numbers don't match up, but that's how it is sometimes for a single gal). So where is my man oh great one? Where is my man?"

But you can't say those kinds of things to people. You just have to smile and nod and tell them that you have given it to God and that you know that He will provide in His time. Someday. Someday soon I hope.

Out of my circle of friends, one is married, one is engaged, and four of us are single. Granted we are in different stages and acceptance of singleness, but we are single nonetheless. And it seems like we are always scoping and fighting for the same man. Black. Professional. Although nowadays we'll take a blue collar man who can read. No kids. OK, one child is alright, maybe even two, but they better have the same mamas. Sane. Ready to settle down or at least put away the games. Church going. OK, at least be willing to come with me to church so I can pray that you get saved. Disease free. And did I mention sane? But somehow Cara clawed her way past those stupid numbers and found a good man. She found love. Something my friends and I have looked for, not looked for, put prayer requests in for, dressed up in the tightest outfits and shook our asses in the wrong clubs for, hit up different churches trying to find a single deacon or pastor for, waited for, and wanted. And waited some more for.

That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!