Wednesday, February 12, 2014

My Worst Date

Today we are supposed to talk about our worst date.

However, I've never had a bad date. 

I know, I know. Lucky Tee. 

I mean, what can I say? I'm amazing and everyone that I've ever been on a date with makes sure that our activities reflect my awesomeness. 

There's also an outside chance that I warned people of possible suplexes and throat chops if they presented me with some low budget Dixie Dozen/Waffle House combo. 

I have standards people. I'll make sure they are met. By any means necessary. 

So anyway, there have been no bad dates. But I have had some really odd outings with men who were not my man. These usually occurred when I was out with girlfriends. Also, they were back in the days before I went straightedge, so keep that in mind when you judge me. 

Picture it. Louisville. 1997. The Elk's Lodge.

I was home from school for the weekend and my friend, Mahogany suggested that we go to the Elk's for some fun. Now I was all about this because whenever we went epic fuckery always ensued. How was I to know that on that night, I would be feeling the brunt of it all?

So we get dressed. I'm wearing a halter top and a long black skirt with splits on both sides. It was 1997. That was the hotness, try not to judge.

I'm on the dance floor amaretto sour in one hand, other hand caressing my Halle Berry cut like I'm super fine, and getting my life to this little ditty.

Now, I don't know if you know this about me or not, but I don't like folks in my personal space. There were two people next to me and I knew them both. Imagine my surprise when a large shadow covers us all and I feel the flesh of a stranger on my shoulders. It was covered by clothing...but still.

I froze. 

I'm talking mid-move. You would have thought we were playing Simon Says in that bitch.

I look to my right and Mahogany is looking up. And not just regular up. She's a tall girl and her neck was bent back 90 degrees.

That's when I knew that I was about to be accosted by Goliath. I went into fight or flight mode. Really, just flight because I ran off that floor so damn fast you would have thought that my ass was on fire.

Never dropped that drink though.

I found a seat at a table and finished off my drink. After a few minutes my homegirls walked up to the table laughing.

"He wants to meet you," they said.
"Who wants to meet me?" I ask with disdain.
"Him..."

And there was the shadow again. This time it covered two tables and scared a white lady into not liking black guys anymore.

I said the Lord's Prayer and looked up.

Wanna know what I saw?



Yep. That guy.

His name is Mark Henry. He's a wrestler. I didn't know that. I thought he was a University of Louisville football player, or at the very least a giant murderer. I was about 98.658% certain that he wanted to take me home, lock me in the basement, and boil me in a pot of Le Petite Black Girl Stew.

I didn't say a word. I got up and walked away.

He followed.


I'm certain this is what we looked like to everyone.
I couldn't get rid of him. 

After a while, I talked to him. We had what might go down in history as the shadiest conversation I've ever had with another human being.

Him: I'm Mark Henry.
Me: That's nice. 
Him: What's your name, beautiful?
Me: That will do.
Him: What? Beautiful?
Me: Yep.
Him: So Beautiful, what are you drinking on?
Me: Water from this point on.
Him: Gotta keep that body right huh?
Me: Some of us care about that kind of thing.
*He rubs his belly.*
Him: You don't like it?
Me: No sir. I don't.
Him: Can I take you out?
Me: Why?
Him: I like you. I can tell we would have a good time.

At this point I'm afraid. Why? Because I'm certain he's a serial killer and he wants to use my skin for an arm brace.

Mahogany comes and saves me. We leave.

As we are walking across the parking lot. He shows up. If you didn't know, Mark Henry moves like a damn ninja. Never seen a big be so damn stealthy.

He asks for my number and a date again.

Mahogany turns around and yells "NO! Shit!"

And then we went home and saw on the television that he had recently signed a contract with the WWF for like $20 million dollars. 

The moral of this story? Never go to the Elk's Lodge. 


Swear this is what he looked like once that Yack took hold of 'em
Next time I'll tell you about a crush who went all Hulk smash when another man (a friend) touched my arm in a way that he deemed unacceptable. If ole boy was trying to get my attention, he got it. Dude was fine as frog hair too. Too bad he was a lunatic.

Moral of that story? Never go to the Elk's Lodge. 

No comments:

Post a Comment