What You Call Lame, I Call Grown

The “Red Light of the Month” award proudly goes to a female that I met up with recently in Taylor. From the moment I arrived at her apartment, there where nothing but consistent moments of regret for wasting my gas. This was perhaps the fastest I have ever picked up a woman and dropped her back off. There was no chemistry; not even the size of her breast and ass could deter my overall irritation level with this woman. Let’s take a look back…

I was not on a sex mission. She was simply a stop before another stop, before another stop. I’d only met her once, briefly, which is when I acquired her phone number. We spoke on the phone for a while that day, enough to where I thought she was a cool person. She was single, no kids, gainfully employed, and a licensed driver with a working vehicle. However, my first sign to run away, was when she told me what her online profile page was. In her pictures, I saw her and her girls sitting on the back of a car on Belle Isle. Anybody from the Detroit area knows what that means…NOTHING GOOD. I didn’t hold that against her though, because most of us at some point in our lives who live in Metro Detroit have hung out on the strip on a nice day. I went out there with an open mind, but…destiny had other plans.

When she walked out of her apartment I immediately noticed the frown she wore on her face. I love PLEASANT women, so I was already turned off, but I often look like I have an attitude as well, so I tried not to be judgmental. From there, my eyes traveled up to her hair which…hmmm. I’ve NEVER talked about a woman’s choice of hairstyles on this blog or in my my real life for that matter. I usually don’t care about the styling of it, more so if it’s real or not. Most black women in this area know how to make their work, regardless of the length or texture…let’s just say, I don’t know what happened with her. I don’t mean to sound like I’m hating or spreading negative stuff because we didn’t work out either, so let me see if I can describe what I saw accurately. Her hair was in a ponytail, but the frizzed up kind. Not nappy, more so curly. Some hair falling on her neck, most of it up. Kind of like an early 2000′s hooker on Woodard in Detroit.

Let me move on to something nicer…her body. She wasn’t Bumble Bee or Chocolate banging by any means, but she had nice curves, which were complimented by the outfit she chose to wear, along with her heels. VERY NICE HEELS. She was fly, except for her hair, so I continued on. She asked me to follow her to the gas station so she could put some air in her tire and I stood by and watched her do her thing. I’m sure a gentleman would have gladly taken over and inflated the tire, but hey, I’m not a gentleman; atleast not to her. When she was done, I waked over to give her an introductory hug (really just so I can grab her ass) but she didn’t let me. Did this weird hair chick just deny me access to her ass? RED LIGHT.

Still, I stayed. I can’t get mad at a woman who has only met me once for not letting me grope her at some gas station. So I followed her back to her apartment, where she got into my car so we could head to the park.

My nose twitched. My brain began to run through it’s archive of smells until it hit a match…CIGARETTES. EWWWWW. I took a big sniff again to confirm the odor before I made any allegations. My nose was on point. I can smell the disgusting smell of cigarettes from miles away. I quickly asked her, “Do you smoke?” “Why?” she responded. That was as good as saying yes. “I can smell it.” “That’s from my car. Yes I do. Is that a problem,” she said. I was about to put her out when I remembered I drove 23 freaking minutes for this girl. She actually lived a mile away from Feds.

“So what are we going to be listening to?” she asked. I looked at her like she was slow. “Whatever I start playing,” I responded rudely. The question was dumb to me and the only people that deserve to ask dumb questions are people that don’t smoke cigarettes. We continued on to make small talk, well it was more of her asking me questions and me giving short answers. She picked up on the vibe and said, “You’re not feeling me are you.” I simply laughed in response and kept driving to our destination. She was snacking on something and when she got it out of the wrapper, SHE THREW THE WRAPPER OUT OF THE WINDOW. RED LIGHT. Excuse me folks, theUNDRESSER does not litter. You can ask any woman I’ve met since I was 18, I don’t play that shit. Why would a grown woman with any class through garbage out of the window? Come on now. At this point she had become nothing but a potential sexual object, but I only further proved me stupidity with that. I already know bad chemistry leads to bad sex, but I ignored it.

She asked what park we were going to and I said Heritage Park. Mind you, it’s daylight outside. I’m not trying to creep on a bench or have sex in a car, I was actually trying to salvage this meet up with some good ol’ conversation. Then she had to ruin that shit too, “I hate that park, it’s LAME.” RED LIGHT. “What do you mean it’s lame?” I asked, hoping for some non-hoodrat answer that never came. “It’s too quiet…it’s boring…nothing is going on,” she tried to process her ghetto answer. When we got to the park, there were people everywhere; bbq’ing, running, playing, walking their dogs, etc… 90% of these people were white. It was peaceful and I loved it. You didn’t hear any loud music or other peoples conversations for that matter. There was NO TRASH. Let me repeat, NO TRASH anywhere. You know…white people know how to put stuff in those big things called trash cans. Crazy right?

So there we are under the shed, sitting on two separate picnic tables and the first question she asked me was, “So when and you’re other lil’ girls come here, what do you talk about?” I was annoyed; that’s another dumb question so I gave her a real ass answer, “Talk? We don’t talk. We just fuck.” The expression on her face was priceless. “Yall don’t have a house or something. So rude and tacky,” she responded. “You’ve never had sex outside?” I asked and she promptly responded, “that is none of your business,” with a very nasty tone in her voice.

Well that was it, “yea, let me take you back home,” I announced. We got back in my car while I played every disrespectful Lloyd Banks song I could think of in addition to calling about 7 girls to set up something later. Yes, I was childish and immature, but I was so annoyed by her I needed to something to make myself feel better. Still, I didn’t directly disrespect her, I took her back home and went on about my evening.

Am I the only relatively young black person that enjoys PEACE AND QUIET? Not isolation, but PEACE. Somewhere trash isn’t abundant and Gucci Mane isn’t blasting from the speakers of the masses? A park that is clean, but ALIVE?

Related Posts:

• It’s Time To Go
• My First “Date” With a White Girl
• The Crush Is Over

Author: The Undresser

Black, Single, and Not Looking. Enjoys grilled salmon, cold glasses of water, and grocery shopping at Meijer. Likes women with nice ass to waist ratios, Reese Cups, and watching Real Time with Bill Maher. Dislikes cigarettes, littering, and disobedient children.

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