Street performers, eclectic ensembles, skateboarders and bikers, squealing toddlers trying to outrun their parents, gorgeous bearded black men.
I also see an abundance of heavy looking engagement rings, men in wedding bands, heads napping on shoulders, snuggles, stolen kisses and plenty more PDA that I can’t relate to. At all. I just look at googley eyes and tenderly interlocked fingers across from me, then down at my own hands. They’re empty, awkward and only have each other.
I can’t even imagine myself that way, someone else’s. In love. Hell, in like. All I’m accustomed to hearing about since living that immediate post-grad life is lust and temporary satisfaction. “Who said you can’t get your cooter licked and your cat scratched? Keep scratching. I hear it’s good for the heart,” one of my friends said. I’m sorry; I’m not built like that. I’m just not a sexual being. Those cravings are pretty easy to push to the side and forget about. It’s the idea of love and being buried in it that I can’t seem to shake.
But exactly how do you “be in love”? I’m not even sure how girlfriending works. It doesn’t even seem what folks are after nowadays now that, for most, talking, going together, being exclusive, being a boo thang, a winter cuff and having everything but the title will suffice.
My last boyfriend was – dun dun dun – during my junior year in high school. I’m now 23. For those as terrible at math as me, that was six years ago. Shiiit. And it lasted a whopping eight months, none of which ended up on any major couple-y holidays. No anniversary, no birthday, no Christmas, no Valentine’s Day (all holidays exist in the same season, lucky me!). Never in life have I had a man during those times, ever. So I’m absolutely clueless.
People ask me these annoying ass series of questions all the time: Girl, what happened? Why are you still single? So, are you not dating on purpose? Ay, ma, how come you don’t got a man?
Man, listen. Your guess is as good as mine. Do you think I set that up intentionally? Why would I – the super emotional Piscean that I am – deprive myself of love and affection? I usually say something to the effect of, “No one [I like] has asked me.” Simple as that. I don’t have many guy friends for real, so there aren’t too many pre-existing prospects. And then there’s my awkward introvert dating problem. If someone were to ask me to be their girl, I would just look at them with a really dumb (probably funny looking) face. I wouldn’t know why I should say yes and what the first course of action would be if I did.
Does this mean I have to kiss him right now to seal the deal? Is he expecting sex now that he put a title on it? I HATE talking on the phone; do I have to call him all the time? Do I have to start acting all wifely? Am I even wifey material? Should I expect him to pamper me? Do I say thank you when he does or is it all a given? Is there a contract and fine print that comes with this? Should I even think of envisioning him as my husband?
‘Tis the season for summa lovin,’ right? Why am I left with a confused but longing heart and a bucket full of questions with answers I’ve yet to become privy to? *Cue world’s smallest violin* Am I alone on this one? –Stacy-Ann Ellis (@stassi_x)
(Photo Credit: Flickr: kelsey_lovefusionphoto)