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    Black Girl.  Blue


    When the Music Stops 

    I've had to bear the indignity of dating at an age when being The Single Girl is no longer fun and games.  When only friends who are sick of being grabbed upon by needful toddlers and husbands envy the solitary life.

         (but only sometimes . . . )

    When going to the club is alright, but is only truly acceptable at homecoming or birthdays.

         (or when that married friend has a babysitter . . .)

    When your Pretty is still spoken of in present tense, but when this attribute only serves as foder for speculation:  

    That you're the dented can. 

    The cracked plate.

    The chipped cup that sits in the back of the cupboard. 

         (Because why else would you remain unclaimed?)

    So you've pushed [it] back.  Swallowed [it] whole.  Tucked [it] in.  And positioned it so that only the best parts show. 


    I've had to bear the indignity of dating at an age when the list of requirements to be possessed by our conjured partner is no longer set forth with an "and." 

    Now, successful or attentive.  Passionate or loyal.  You can't have it all, you know. 

    And if you try--well, good for you.  But just remember: This is not child's play.

    When the music stops, you may be left standing alone.  There's not room for everyone to settle down. These are the rules. 

         Too few chairs.  Too many players. 

    And so, you unwittingly play this non-game while trying to ignore the fading melody in the background. 

    And yet- staccatoed steps stutter at every hint that the song has halted and dizziness begins to overtake the weary.

    And while you don't say "yes" to every seat that is offered, you sometimes linger for a beat too long. . . 

    No longer able to recognize if the music has truly stopped--or if you're just tired of playing the game. 



    Freezer Burn



    It was purchased too soon.

    Maybe it was on sale:  An offer that couldn't be refused.

    Or, perhaps, it looked so good that it just couldn't be passed over.

                                            Fresh meat.  Grade A.  Thick cut. 


    So, you brought it home before you were ready.

    And, while it was still cool (having been kept in the refrigerator), as the days passed, you knew that it was only a matter of time before it spoiled. 

    So, you put me on ice.

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    He likes to be tied down.

    I'm not talking about his desire to be monogamous:  I'm talking about his desire to be handcuffed.

    Actually, I don't know this for sure-he actually may prefer to dominate-but what I do know is that the man that I am/was dating* has a bed that is girded with an under-the-bed restraint system that includes a, "set of tethers and kitten-soft cuffs.

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    First Round Elimination 

    The bubble:  Popped.  The ball:  Deflated.

    It's pouring the cereal, then discovering that there's no milk. 

    It's finally falling asleep, then almost immediately being jolted awake by the alarm.

    It's giving him your number-and within minutes of the first conversation, realizing that he's a loser.

    I've been accused of counting men out before they've even entered the ring--a trait that, while efficient, has also contributed to me clocking in overtime with my Rabbit--so I've been making a conscious attempt to think twice before casting early fumblers aside.  Yet, even when liberal allowances are made, there are certain things that, once said, will get a man ejected from the game in the first round.  If you're a man who is playing to win, beware of prematurely broaching the following topics: 

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    April 10th 

    There are certain things that we aren't supposed to admit.  Feelings deeply felt when the world has fallen silent.  Feelings that prove our vulnerabilities and, just sometimes, make us ashamed of our humanity.  Often, these moments sound during life's darkest middles:  In the middle of the night.  In the middle of the storm.  But, this time, it's crept upon me in the beginning.  In spring.  In daylight.  On the first day that winter's burden was shed.

    The loneliness.

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