WE ARE: 5 women navigating our twenties in search of peace, happiness and love (or not). WE WRITE: about everything and nothing. From the insane to the mundane- you will find different paths taken, lessons learned and lives lived. WE THINK: you’ll enjoy it...Warning: Consumption of these views may leave you enlightened while intoxicated.


The View From Here will conclude on Friday, October 1, our third year anniversary. We would like to spend this month thanking all of our readers, followers, haters, visitors, family, friends, and fans for your continued support, encouragement, and comments over these past few years. Thanks y'all!
-The Five Spot

Friday, May 22, 2009

Some Sugar In My Bowl

When I was working at the skrip club, an older gentleman (and by older I mean, 65, if not older) used to come in and try to holler. His “game” consisted of the following: “you know my wife passed away from cancer. And I need someone to take care of me. I have a nice house with a pool in the back. You should come over. You would like it.” Yes, the pool in the back was the selling point. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention that he was a shytty tipper and he never bought me a drink. I mean as my momma would say, “show me that you care.” But as usual I digress…

So, the problem with men hitting on you at work is a. you can’t run away from them b. you will definitely see them again and c. you depend on them for your livelihood, so you have to be somewhat nice to them. So you have to just dangle that ‘maybe, someday, I will take you up on this ridiculous great offer’ carrot. My usual response was, “that sounds really nice. But I don’t know… Um. Do you need another drink?” And let me tell you this man was persistent. Even told me about the foundation he started for his dead wife. I mean if that don’t just tear at the heart strings! And I’d politely decline his offers each time. But I’m not gon’ lie, sometimes I wondered “what if I did just go ‘head and let him be my sugar daddy…” What would that be like? What would that entail exactly? Could I, you know, do it – pun intended.

Well one day he came in with a woman in her early to mid thirties. She was clearly a hood chick, a lil rough around the edges. So I said to him, “Is that your girlfriend?” His response, “Nah, that’s my wife. You didn’t want me.” Well damn! You right about that one! But who knew it was gonna play out like this?

That night I looked at this chick 1/3 in awe for getting with this old dude. 1/3 with respect for taking advantage of the benefits and rewards of being with this old dude. I mean she was probably living the life – or at least a step up from her life. Money, car, clothes, a pool in the back to chill at all day long. And then 1/3 wtf that she had actually gotten with this old dude. I mean really, how did that happen? F, love him, did she even like him? Did she have “sex” with him? Ewwwww…. Had to get that thought outta my mind. What did his kids think of the union? How long would this last? I mean I ain’t sayin she a gold digger but… let's just say I don't think he was what came to mind when she first envisioned having a huzband.

I don’t know y’all. There’s a part of me that believes in marriage for practical reasons: two incomes are always better than one, the tax incentives, merging retirement accounts and stock portfolios, life insurance payoffs (heh heh). But then there’s the part of me that believes in marriage for the fairytale, romanticized reasons: love, companionship, genuine attraction, enjoying that person’s company, a true friendship, wanting to grow old together, etc., etc...

However, as I get up in age, and it seems like the pool of available men is shrinking, causing me to sometimes drift into f-it mode, got me contemplating throwing out the fairytale reasons, and seriously considering a slightly (or quite) older, wealthier man who would “take care of me”. Financially and whatnot. But then I wonder what other parts of me would have to be compromised to live this life. And could I deal with it? Could I live with myself? And would it really matter, would I even care about pesky little things like scruples and this thing called love if I were draped in Dior and dripping with diamonds? Tee hee. For real though, could I exchange my values for some financial peace of mind?

And yes, I know that things aren't always what they appear to be. That the grass is always greener. That we could lose all our money in the stock market and I would be back at square one. Or he might not leave me in the will and then our house would be foreclosed on and I'd be screwed. That I'd have to maybe one day change his diapers and whatnot. But I'm just saying, sometimes this lil song plays in my head, "If you think you're lonely now. Wait until you 35..." And, like Carrie Bradshaw, I can't help but wonder will there be a time in my life when I'm willing to give up some of myself, my wants, my desires, what I thought mattered most, all in the name of comfort and security? I mean this life gets rough. Lonely. Hard. Expensive. And sometimes you just want someone else in it with you. A little sugar in your bowl...

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


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