Swirling! (Women Are All Alike)

I looked at White Guy, to see how he handled S.S.S.’s request for wine, oh, wait, I’m sorry, cold wine. Would he order it by the glass, or would he order a bottle, with a side of ice? More importantly, did he understand the ramifications of S.S.S. being served alcohol? I slurrrped another oyster, while Wife/Daughter munched their shrimp and pretended not to notice the swirling going on around them.

“Waiter,” W.G. said, holding up a finger and ordering while S.S.S. beamed. She did a lot of that. Beaming, I mean. I hoped she wasn’t one of those who enjoyed swirling just for the idea of having a Trophy From Another Race.

I was considering becoming annoyed with her, just on General Principle, but then she threw a move on W.G. that let me know she considered herself to be The Trophy. She shivered slightly, and said, “It’s a bit cool in here, don’t you think?” and hugged her…um…er…self (yeah, that’s it, her self!), effectively hiding all of God’s blessings from W.G….

But…

Subtly suggesting that the Glory of God could possibly be revealed, if…

IF…

He would sacrifice his jacket and hand it to her, no, drape it around her shoulders, making sure that Super Soul Sister was warm and comfortable for the duration of the SwirlDate. Would White Guy concede Super Soul Sister’s inherent Trophiness?

Would he???

Be not silly; White Guy almost broke his ankles sprinting over to Super Soul Sister; a moment later, his Ralph Lauren jacket nestled snugly against the puppies. Most of the men in the room envied ol’ Ralph.

Not me.

I said, not me. (Prove otherwise, or shush!!!)

“Humph!” Both of them, nearly simultaneously, but there was a sliiightly different tone to each of their individual grunts. My daughter’s had a slightly wistful note; I’d have to deal with that later. My wife…..hmmmmm…..I’m not sure. Regret? I looked at her; she sat pat with Expression #5—Neutral Boredom.

Like I said, hmmmmm…..

But, no time for all of that right now; White Guy was sprinting again…..

What now?

He really, really needed to spend more time in Smoove Operator class; all that sprinting leaves women, especially Black women, with the wrong idea about getting their needs fulfilled by men. Like, it’s actually possible for a man, especially a White man, to do.

Chile, please!

“That fool done went to the restroom,” my wife said.

That explained it. Cramping, while expected/accepted in women, is never, I repeat, never, tolerated by men; we must relieve it ASAP, especially in the presence of a female we have designs on. Add to the fact that this was his first journey into The Jungle…

Huh?

What now?!?

I meant The Jungle of Interracial Romance in general, not….

You people have issues!

And I’m not a therapist. Well, I am, but I’m not charging you therapist prices.

Hmmmm…..I should write a new book! Therapy For Wounded Black Women…now there’s a market just ripe for the picking!

Hey, I’m merely relating a story. Just keep reading, and stop it with all the sensitivity!

Does everything have to hurt your feelings???

That’s part of your problem, you know. You desire conversation, but you shun honesty; you seek intimacy, but you want it on your own terms. Men are afraid to show their true feelings with women who penalize them for the effort….but that’s another blog at another time.

Huh?

You’re saying that the use of the term “Jungle” is not an appropriate word to describe swirling?

O…………k.

(So, I suppose that the world of interracial dating is not fraught with seen and unseen dangers, emotional turmoil, filled with misunderstandings, ignorant stereotyping, old societal taboos, etc, etc??? Sounds like a jungle to me.)

Let me finish my story, and leave you to your tea and crumpets. Where was I?

Oh, yes, White Guy was sprinting to the restroom, using a gait I instantly recognized as Official Guy Reaction #2, I Got A Good Look At ‘Em, Now I Need To Adjust My Slacks. He’d be MIA for about 15 minutes, give or take a few. Depends on how long it was since the last time he’d seen some.

(Guys reading this are nodding their heads. We’ve all been there.)

“Why is he walking like that?” my daughter asked.

“He has to relieve himself, baby,” I gently answered.

“Phhhtttt,” my wife muttered. She wiped her lips with her napkin, and went back to Expression #5. Yes, we definitely needed to talk later.

“Excruse me,” a voice said, “is that ersters you eatin’?” I turned, and found myself face-to-face with Estrogen Valley. While I was watching the rapidly vanishing figure of White Guy, Super Soul Sister had gotten out of her chair and came over to where I was sitting, strategically (I suppose) parking them big ‘uns riiiight where I could see ‘em……

(Guys: Never mind how they looked. Go read your Bible, you heathens!)

(Black Women: No, I did not have to go to the restroom!)

(White Women: “Ersters” are referring to one of several Ebonic pronunciations of “oysters,” including “icesters,” “oisters,” and, of course, the more common, “What the hell is that nasty-lookin’ stuff? You been datin’ White wimmens ag’in?”)

Ha!

…to be continued…

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Interracial Dating, Part 2

…continued…

Super Soul Sister sat, beaming with Expression # 52D—I Gots Me A White Man, while Skinny White Guy scurried around the table and found his chair.

My goodness. Front-row seating at a Swirl Event, although, technically speaking, (for you purists out there), a Reverse Swirl Event. Because normally, it’s Brudder Man With a White Woman.

Sidebar:

Reverse Swirl Events are rare, thankfully. Sisters aint quite there yet. Too many jealous girlfriends out there for a curious Black woman to feel enough courage to try them a little White meat.  But when they get tired of Leroy Fresh Outta Jail trying to flip them over to do some freaky jailhouse sex and giving them some alphabets they don’t need, like Hep B, or AIDS, or Leroy Fresh Outta Jail trying to reclaim his manhood, by beating a Black woman’s azz, well then maybe, juuuuust maybe, they’ll give Jared Whitemeat some play.

But I aint holding my breath.

Back to blog:

You know how that is. Cuz walks in, looking around to see who’s paying attention, with Blondie walking behind him, Coach purse clutched tightly under her arm. She has to have that purse, because she’s the one paying for it. He holds her chair for her, while she smiles and thanks him. You know she’s smiling because she got Homeboy trained. Make you wanna holla, don’t it?

I sipped tea, and studied the two grim faces at my table, rather happy that I wasn’t the source of the grimness. But, I had to be careful here. Super Soul Sister had them big guns pointed dead at me, and I had to make sure I responded appropriately. In other words, no ogling, admiration, or any reference to their size, shape, or symmetry, the harmonious balance between……

(cough)

Where was I?

Huh?

Whaddya mean, “heading toward the abyss”?

Chile, please. I am a Smoove Operator, First Class; I’ve been in battlefield situations before. One Black chick with big ‘uns wasn’t no big deal, trust me. Besides, Skinny White Guy and His Black Date had me covered.

“Now you know she know better than that,” my daughter said, sotto voce.

“She knew better before she left her house,” my wife answered, voce equally sotto. “Look at her, sitting up there like Elsie the Frickin’ Cow.”

“Got milk?” I said with a straight face.

“Why, you thirsty?” my wife asked.

Hey, I like to live dangerously. I’m too old to skydive, and bungee-jumping aint my style, so a couple of well-placed wisecracks does it for me. I just had to be careful not to exceed my quota for the night.

The secret is, Rookie Husbands, is to change the subject, and let them bring it back up again. That way, you don’t get accused of obsessing, ‘cause they’re the ones that’s talking about it.

See? That’s the kind of helpful info you get in my books…

“Look at him,” my daughter said, “He don’t know which way to look! Left, right, up, down, everywhere but what he want to look at! Haa!” My wife giggled along with her; two schoolgirls sharing an adolescent secret. Then, my daughter looked at me. “Daddy?” she asked.

“What, my dear?” I asked, slurping down a fat oyster, dripping with hot sauce.

“If that were you, what would you do?” She asked it innocently enough, but there were enough land mines scattered there to blow up a platoon, trust me.

“Yes, Dad, what would you do?” my wife purred, but she didn’t fool me, not a bit. They both looked at me; my daughter with Expression # 18B—Advice-Seeking Seriousness, my wife with Expression # 33—Go For It With Yo’ Bad Self.

Cue “High Plains Drifter” flute music…

Interracial Dating (a.k.a. “Swirling”)

“Humph!” my wife said.

“Humph!” my daughter replied.

Whaaaaat? A double “Humph!”???

Hoo, boy.

An explanation is in order, I suppose. We were in a restaurant, enjoying two of our favorite activities: eating, and people-watching. Restaurants are a good place for that, you know. Nothing better than a medium-rare steak with all the trimmings, and an idiot three tables over who can’t hold his liquor, who insists that Elvis was the greatest singer of all time, and attempts to give the entire restaurant a rendition of the King’s Greatest Hits.

Let me be careful here. This story might end up in my sister’s blog. http://theswirlworld.com/ .

Check it out, if you like to read about “the world of interracial dating.”

Me? I’m “The Anti-Swirl.” I don’t play that schit.

White gal, stay in your double-wide, and leave the brothers alone!

Brothers, stop chasing them dirtyfoots, like they’re some kind of trophy! Plenty of fine, educated fun-to-be-with Black women to chose from!

Yes, there is one in every family, and I proudly hold the Anti-Swirl Banner, and I hold it high. (Rustle…rustle…flap!)

See?

Somebody has to keep it real around here, and it might as well be moi.

Where was I?

Oh, yes, a “Double Humph,” the semi-rare occasion where my wife and my daughter agree on something, the “something” being dependent on who “Humphs!” first.

You rookie husband/fathers really need to read my book, What Every Man Needs to Know About the Females Who Infest His House, along with my companion book Keeping the Females Who Infest Your House In Check. For the low, low price of only $159.95, It’s a must-read for any husband/father.

Anyway, my wife had “humphed” first, so I knew there was Another Female involved, one who had an obvious physical defect, such as a tiny waistline or wide hips, or an onion that could make a grown man cry. But, my daughter had humphed almost simultaneously, so that had to mean that there was a fashion faux pas of some kind taking place as well.

Wow! Something good to go with my oysters on the half-shell! Along with the horseradish and green hot sauce, of course…

Huh?

Whaddya mean, ewwww!?? What kind of readers I got in here, anyway?

Don’t look at me funny, just because I like raw oysters. There’s a name for people like you!

Anyway, I looked around, to see just who had caused such a ruckus at my table. Nothing much, just a tall, skinny White guy with a rather anxious expression on his face, walking real fast toward the tables behind us. But then, I saw her, and instantly, I understood…

Cue theme music, shift to slow motion…

“…she’s a ba-rrickk…hawwwssse! Yeah, she mighty-mi-taaay, just lettin’ it all hang out…”

Cut music, back to normal speed…

After all that, a description is in order. A Black woman had walked in behind the skinny White guy, and, uh, how should I say this?

Super Soul Sister here was…er…blessed.

Blessed and highly favored.

 

Highly favored….

About 44DD favored. You feel me? Yes, Lawd!

And she was not ashamed to let the world know how blessed she was, as a matter of fact, she was, as the song said, “lettin’ it all hang out.”

My goodness. A set of healthy twins. Or puppies.

Great Dane puppies.

St. Bernards.

Whatever. Call ‘em what you like, they was nice!

As she passed by, one of them puppies winked at me, but, with the “Humphs!” still ringing in my ear, and the icy Daddy-don’t-you-dare! look I was getting from my daughter, and the wink-back-I-dare-you! look coming from the ICBM missile launch silo to my immediate right, well, I figured it wasn’t a good idea to wink back.

I may be stupid, but I aint crazy.

I calmly sipped my herbal tea, and went to Expression # 92B—Puzzled Confusion, and said the word every husband should have ready in his arsenal, “What?”

I fully expected the standard “Don’t ‘what?’ me!” but not this time. Skinny White Guy saved the day by doing something nobody at our table, and, probably the restaurant, expected.

He held the chair for Super Soul Sister, and waited for her……

…to be continued….