i wish he was a lil' bit taller.

The internet has been in an uproar since Wednesday when Kermit revealed his new bae, Denise. Hilarious memes littered Twitter as people dragged Kermit for moving on so quickly from his 40 year long relationship with the baddest bitch in Muppet Land, Miss Piggy. I laughed until my cheeks were sore, but something else kept popping up in my head as the pictures whizzed by in my feed: this is literally me and and my new bae.*deep sigh*

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.

rum punch.

I’m late. He’s sitting at a table in a corner, staring at his phone, beer in front of him. I approach and he jumps up with a quick hug. I apologize profusely, but he shrugs it off, and makes room for me to sit next to him instead of across from him. We both smile at that.

“Are we drinking tonight?” I ask. 

“Look, as long as you can keep your hands to yourself when you drink and don’t try to take advantage of me, you can have whatever you like.”

I give him the "Boy, bye" face, and then we order oxtails, rice and peas, sip on rum punch, and talk about work and Selma and Mike Brown, past relationships and hurt and friends and happiness and being nervous about our first date, and being happy it is turning out better than expected. I’m surprised when he tells me that he’s been fidgety all day, waiting for this moment. We are one in the same.