In the Chocolate City This Baby’s Got Back
So the other night V and I were talking about the house next door to L, man of mystery. She said the woman now lives in back of her, in her double, and that she sold it because “her daughter slept with a black man and got pregnant” – V said she told the woman “You sold a whole house on account of that? Damn!” So I told V and A about when I was going to buy my first house in Lakeview and the guy said “I’ll sell it to you as long as you aren’t a nigger or a Jew.” And A looked over and said, “Damn, you’re Jewish? You don’t look it!” And then she turned in the same breath and said to V, “You don’t look black either!” V, whose skin is the color of bittersweet chocolate, and I rolled out of our chair laughing so hard.
Last night H&T came over to eat white beans and sausage. I told them that I used to gage the size of my butt by how many black bus drivers in San Francisco would come onto me. When there was junk in the trunk – it was a LOT. On the smaller side, hardly at all. Lately, I’ve have had multiple encounters with black men professing their attraction to me – within a 24 hour period three told me I was the most beautiful woman they ever saw – Note to Self: I think my butt’s getting big.
It also made me wonder about this confidence in putting themselves out there that black men possess. I just couldn’t imagine the same come on from a white man.
Following the thread of the mating ritual, I read in the Wall Street Journal that there is a trend towards contractors sleeping with the woman of the house. I read this horrific article and then realized, yet again, I’m a cliche. The mere fact that K thought he could interrupt our professional relationship to come on to me is universal in the contracting world. Good grief. In the article, it describes the tool belt and weathered shorts with the distressed boots and how alluring this is to the wife who stays home and interacts with the contractor on her personal space – JESUS FUCKING CHRIST – what goes on?
This morning the air was cool from the rains last night, the bayou was placid, the grass was soaking wet – but there was a sense of peace all around and inside of me. In front of the LaLa I clicked my red heels and said “there’s no place like home.”