I realize I have been pretty ignorant about the selectiveness of men. It’s the same way I assumed men never experienced bad kisses. I really thought most men would be grateful for any female attention, especially kisses. But something else has jarred this flawed assumption.
I called a friend of mine one Sunday and he was still sleeping in bed, around noon. I asked what he’d been up to and he said he’d had a girl over, but she’d left for work. I frowned. It was Sunday. What kind of job did she do? I began jumping to too many conclusions at once. I ignorantly concluded that he was seeing someone who worked in a mall or store. I teased him that when we were younger we all did the ‘shop assistant’ thing but isn’t now the time for careers? (Forgive me Lord, I am not a mean girl, and I am not egotistical, just occasionally judgmental) He correctly reminded me that doctors, nurses, pharmacists and plenty of other professionals work weekends, including financial people. And then he added that in any case, he always assesses the lifetime value and earning potential of any women he’s with.
So maybe the cliché ‘men are from Mars…and women are from Venus is not just a washed up, overused saying but there is some truth to this old adage. How often do we use this saying as a justifiable reason why men and women sometimes don’t get along or why they are treated differently under very similar circumstances. Quite frankly I think it’s a cheap cop out for us not to play nice and also to excuse society’s mislabeling of men and women unfairly. My favorite, of course, is the ‘double standard’ approach society has adopted as a ‘norm’. I have actually had many guys agree vehemently with this sorry excuse of a behavior!
I haven’t posted a blog in a while. I should have put one up a week ago but I have had a serious case of ‘pro-longed’ jet lag. I spent close to 17 hours traveling when I left Ghana. 13 hours on a plane (Accra to New York to Atlanta) and about 4 hours at the airports. Transit through New York seriously sucks and is a very frustrating experience. And then I had to move. Yarda, yarda, yarda.
Anyways, I miss home, incredibly. As cliché as it always sounds, there really is no place like home. I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. What is it? Honestly, what is it about Ghana that we just can’t get enough of? And I know it’s not just me. No matter where we are, most of us call Ghana home. We look forward to going back home. No matter where we are working, struggling or having fun, our hearts and our minds are all back home. It’s a part of us we can’t shake, a part we don’t want to shake. So what is it?
Earlier this week, I had a conversation with someone, let’s call her Abena. Abena is seeing someone new, and I asked how it was going. She said she was confused. She likes the guy very much, but people keep telling her things about him which is confusing her. She said she’s realized she’s quite gullible, and usually influenced by talk, and once again, she doesn’t know what to think.
She isn’t the first.
True scenario, names changed:
Joyce starts to date a new guy. Ajoa finds out Joyce’s man is a cheat. It takes Ajoa a while, but she witnesses a clear act of indiscretion and tells Joyce. Joyce says, ‘Hey, it’s my situation, I love him, no one is perfect, I’m staying.’
A short while later, Ajoa gets involved with someone. Based on my observations, and what I know, I tell her, I don’t think this guy is treating you right, take it easy. Ajoa tells me, ‘When you get yours, play cha-cha with it. This is my situation; there is no perfect man out there.’
Less than a year later, Babs starts to date someone new, someone Ajoa has dated. Ajoa tells Babs her man is no good. Babs says, ‘I know what I’m doing, thanks for the advice. No one is perfect.’
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, as I walk around, listen to people, watch movies, what am I missing here?
This is a sensitive topic and I’m probably going to get responses split down in the middle. But who cares? I’m 30 and I want to lay my cards on the table. No long tings! So, my clock is ticking loud, freakishly loud, rings in my ear like a train horn and I can’t seem to shut it off. Honestly, honestly, honestly, I didn’t expect to be single at 30, but here I am! I really thought I had time. I thought 30 would never get here and even if it did, I wouldn’t care if I was single or not. Age is nothing but a number. There is no rush in life. I have spewed all those lovely clichés us single ladies hold onto for dear life. And yes, it’s all true really, to an extent I’d say though.
I’d empty my already handicapped savings account just for the answer to this question. And I would earn that money back ten-fold! Can you imagine how many women, and even men, out there who’d pay to know ‘when it’s time to let go?’ It’s a question I’ve been pondering for years and I still don’t have enough data to draw any concrete conclusions. And not having the answer is pretty hard for me, because I am very opinionated. So I may not have the answer, but I do have some thoughts. Getting over someone is damn hard, harder than dealing with Man U’s ups and downs; harder than watching Heidi and Spencer on the Hills; harder than waking up on Monday morning; harder than enduring traffic, harder than…. okay you know what I mean. It’s just plain hard!
Close to 15 years ago, and I know I am showing my age, I wrote Basic Reality, a love story about teenage twin sisters who during the course of one summer, everything changes for them, their perception of love, friendships and sisterhood. The book was really a personal book, wasn’t looking to publish it. But I decided to give it to an old editor family friend, just to get his take. It was my first complete novel, and so I braved the world of harsh critical editors and handed it over. I expected different reactions, but the one I got, sort of threw me off. He said, ‘You have to take out the sex scene.” I was a little confused, sex scene? There is only one mild sex scene and he wants me to take out that?
Is kissing cheating?
Last Thanksgiving, during a particularly interesting and revealing ‘true talk’ conversation with my favorite boys, a question was thrown around – have you ever cheated. Kwame, (sorry to put you on blast) with a genuinely innocent face, he couldn’t have looked more saintly, says, ‘Is kissing cheating?’ The whole room erupts and he’s bombarded and blasted for at least an hour. What was worse, I think, was the completely oblivious way he asked the question. Seriously, he wasn’t kidding, he really wanted to know if kissing was cheating.