Seriously, this is as close to a picture of us that you will get. And I'm not sure how to feel about that. Let me tell you why:
Preferences are tricky things when you're a single Black woman with zero options, and have been for more years than you'd like to count. People begin to insinuate that you should step outside of the box of things you like, and give things you've never thought about, things that annoy you, and things that gross you out a try. My answer is usually NO.
When you're 34 and have been dating since little Tyrell shared his chocolate pudding with you in preschool, you kinda have a really good idea about the things that will and will NOT work for you, whether you have tried them or not. I know for sure that I don't want to date a man who can't read or write, doesn't open the car door, doesn't tip, is an athiest, is shy, has a violent temper, and isn't my kind of cultured.
I also don't want him to be short. Or skinny.
But then, a few months back, I met this guy at a meetup with a whole bunch of traveling Black folks. I wasn't a part of the group, and neither was he, but we'd been invited by friends who were, so while they socialized and gushed over planning a trip to Cuba, he and I launched into an all night conversation about Rachel Dolezal and Bill Cosby, gentrification, Brooklyn versus Harlem, and where we were thinking about watching the next playoff game. He was cool, and midway through the night, suggested we keep in touch. Neither of us whipped out our phones to exchange numbers, but the next day, I woke up thinking, "Damn, that was a good ass conversation." That's never happened before.
