I think I should just blog about my Mondays. I would have enough material to fill up pages with nothing but the unbelievable nonsense I encounter on this day. This Monday, I set out to make it to the dentist. In order for me to have even decided that I was going to the dentist had to mean that the pain was so intense that I was willing to endure a possible anxiety attack at the sound of the drill or even just the water pic. I showered, dressed and boarded public transportation. I made it across town, to not only find that the name of my dentist had changed but that they are closed on Mondays! Before I would let loose to anger, I double checked my whereabouts. I was in the hood it could very well be possible that the dentist and the local hair stylist were one in the same? Not the case.
Thank goodness for smartphones. As I walked a block back to an inbound bus stop I found a service that would find me a dentist 24 hours a day. After promising my firstborn I was informed that there was no dentist that would see me today, that also accepted my insurance. I was offered information for dentist in nearby cities, as tempted as I was, looking desperately up the street for the bus as the wind whipped through the cavities in my mouth dimmed all ideas of even going to Canton. I made it home and wondered, “What next?”
I had surpassed being able to self-medicate about 24 hours prior. No combo of Aleve, Tylenol, and Advil was working at this point. My dad and step mom were working. I couldn’t call my mom and step dad because that would remind them they had my kids for the week. The content of my next few calls does not need to be recorded all I’ll say about that is don’t judge me we all do it. No one else had a solution. Desperation had me looking even closer to my contacts list as I sat perched atop my porcelain throne. A few names popped up, but their feelings wouldn’t sustain a hit from my fly mouth paired with unbearable pain. One name caught my eye. As much as I wanted to resist I knew he would have the solution. He wouldn’t have one solution he would have several and a street card handy if I needed it for further assistance in the future.
As I knew he would. He had a plan and an alternative to that plan, and any other spare alternatives I needed.
“I been messin ’round with these rabbits all morning. Let me go home and clean up than Imma come see about you.”
I should have taken pause at “rabbits”, but have I conveyed my desperation at this point?
Let me just give you the briefest background on J. J is older than my father. J is cute and at some point has shown a romantic interest in me. Maybe it’s because I’m pre mid-thirties, that I am finding interest in older men (It’s silly at this point to blame it on anything other than the need to open the dating pool. Don’t tell me, or allow me to tell myself that I have daddy issues), but sadly my maturity and poise has yet to catch up with this interest. J and I have been on two actual dates, both ended in me embarrassing myself and him giving me “there, there” pats on my back. But that’s another blog for a different day. But I will say this; (bare with me as I get side tracked for a moment)
I’ve long ago stopped trying to understand the courting game. Now I just find comfort in the hilarity of it all. If I should happen to stumble upon Mister Right, I can accept him without bitterness because I had a sense of humor and finally suppressed the need to take dating so seriously.
I am often amused at how differently older and younger men court. A younger man is not going to be as creative in his approach of not having any plans other than to ravage you on your sofa. The younger man may be smooth in his method of attack, perhaps offering to bring the bottle and go half on the sack. You’re in for a real treat if he remembers to bring the bootleg movies he stole from his baby mama’s house. You will be fortunate if he showers and puts on clean clothes. Rest assured in the fact that even his dirty clothes are name brand. One must be Polo (ed) out at all times. So obvious is the younger man’s method of shenanigans, he will strike out with his thoroughbred peers.
The older male is different in his approach. He’ll ask when he can come see about you. Is he calling on you to assess your wellbeing, or the wellbeing of your lady parts? The older man may bring wine and the finest of party favors. There may even be some gas station floral involved. You’re unsure about what it all means so you may fall prey to sofa ravishing.
Back to the matter at hand, My tooth hurts, and someone that I may or may not have a crush on is coming to see about me. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? Is “come see about you” older man speak for “let me come smash on the sofa?” I’ve yet to figure it out. He may just be what my grandmother refers to as a gentleman caller. If that is the case, what level of hospitality is expected of me? I’m not expected to serve refreshments and make small talk about the weather and the wellbeing of our children, am I? (I have pre-teens; he has children my age, by the way) Older guys with the right amounts of swag and sexy tend to freak me out. So not only am I dealing with impeding embarrassment, will I also have to cuss this dude out for sexually harassing me while my teeth threaten to tumble to the ground?
I always feel like I’m interviewing for a position when I date an older man. I take one look at today’s ensemble of no _____ given. My “Pay Homage, Black Power” cause t-shirt, my unhemmed black dress slacks and my worn black chucks, has me taking the stairs two at a time to rectify what is years of non-fashion sense. I try to fix my starving-artist- trying- to make- it look, which has become my trademark style of up to date accessories and thrift store everything else. I smooth my afro puff into submission with a dab of death gel. I half ass arch 1 eyebrow and managed to bronze, blush, line and enhance all within five minutes. There is obviously no hope for my clothes. I just adjust my girls, swap out the chucks for a pair of flats, and add an infinity scarf to the look. I’m sure I look ridiculous but I feel fancy so suck it.
Well J shows up, and if I don’t describe what happens next, this whole narrative is pointless. I swear people in their late 40s think that denim outfits are high fashion and you’re really casket sharp if you got the crease. He meant what he said when he said he was going to clean up. He was freshly shaven and no doubt had dabbed on the Old Spice his Grands sent for Easter and put on his last pair of straight from the cleaner’s plastic jeans. (He had that walk) He walks to the door carrying a rather large book. It’s a book so I’m instantly intrigued, but I don’t forget my manners. I hug him (the stench of Jerri Curl juice reminds me that he is older than my parents) thank him for coming and attempt to take his coat. He informs me that he can’t stay long he has a lady friend waiting in the car. Everything sane in me shouts “HEATHER, LEAVE IT ALONE!” Anyone who knows me well knows pain could never outweigh my propensity for getting myself into shenanigans.
“J, don’t be rude. I haven’t seen you in months. Invite your friend in.”
The friend walks in and I immediately zero in on the Apple Bottoms bomber jacket and hair bonnet. If I remember correctly J is about 46-50 and this lady is about the same. It’s about 1:30 ish and she smells as if happy hour started hours ago. I offer her a beer like any good hostess should. I receive “the look” from J and chose to ignore it.
Ms. Apple Bottom tells me I have a nice clean little apartment. “You did good J; most of these young girls don’t know nothing about housekeeping.” It’s odd that she’s complimenting J on my cleanliness but whateves. J let’s Ms. Bottom do most of the talking. She’s rambling about her own “ain’t shit” kids which is fine with me. I’m trying to sit still and quiet. The Aleve I took is taking forever to kick in. I focus on her drink. I want to be at the ready with another when she finishes the last sip. J realizes that Miss Bottom has become the source of my entertainment. He knows me well enough to know that this will end badly for him. He picks up his keys and her hair bonnet which has fallen to the floor and tries to escape unscathed. I’m not letting this pass, and I don’t have to let it pass nor do I have to say a word.
Ms. Apple Bottom; “J give this baby that home remedies book. And Heather you don’t really need it. Get you some thunderbird no Kool-Aid (I tune her out at the mention of alcohol. She can’t even wait til 3 to get saucy. Also I shant take medical advice from a 50 year old in a hair bonnet and apple bottoms jacket.) Well Miss Heather it sure was nice meeting you. You look just like your daddy, Child. Right down to them eyes. Thank you for the drink. “
Me: *audible chuckle* You’re welcomed anytime it was nice meeting you.
By now, the fact that I’m laughing confuses J. I steer both of them towards the door. I hug Ms. Bottoms and then I pull J in for a tight hug. (I’m sure if Ms. Bottom was sober this hug would be the first indication that she has been duped) I want him to feel every curve and the fullness of my breasts.
“Goodbye Daddy. (Then I whisper in his ear) take your effin book and lose my number.”
P.S. I need my parents to skip the awkward still holding on to youth phase, and coast right into the wearing golf and cruise attire for every occasion phase. I’m just going to keep doing what I do maybe I’ll be the eccentric family member everyone talks about.