Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Public Service Announcement

Okay. First, a disclaimer from the author of this blog...

Allow me to apologize in advance to any person or persons I inadvertently offend with what you are about to read. You have to know that this not my intention. Something has been weighing on my mind and I need to talk to you all. I know that this is an extremely touchy subject and there is a possibility that some of you will be made to feel uncomfortable...for that I'm sorry.

With that being said, let's get right into it. Gas. That's right. in belching, bloating and flatulence...specifically from you women. You might be laughing now but some of you front like you don't have any - ever. And that's some bull nuggets.

First, we're going to go back…to the beginning. To where it all started. To that pivotal moment where you let one out by "accident". Whether you burped and said, " Ooh. Excuse me" in a surprised and puzzled manner or you farted and said, "Oh my God! I am SO sorry" or the classic line, " I can't believe I just did that. I'm so embarrassed".

Yeah right. I call bullsht.

See, you got away with it. You knew that we were smitten with you and you capitalized on that fact. You knew that it was a gamble but the odds were in your favor. You figured that in all of the newness and puppydogism, of all the things you could potentially get away with…passing gas was one of them. And you were right. You let one slip and silly us, we thought it was funny and cute. Why? Hell if I know.

But you know what's not cute? The way you all took it too far. Me? I'm considerate when it comes to the flatulent. I don't let the silent ones go in front of you. I send mines out with an announcement. Surprise smells are no fun. I learned that when I was in high school and my German Shepherd would walk by and leave a little silent killer behind as I watched television. That's the kind of tomfoolery I reserved for my boys. The look on your friends' faces when they caught a whiff of the end result of the McDonald's (or better yet…those beef patties with cocoa bread) you ate for lunch is like nothing else. Now when I say you took it too far, I mean just that. It's like your sphincter can't stay shut. Months after you've gotten too comfortable with your male friend, your boo, your snookey bear, your boyfriend, your husband, your sweetheart…you're letting them fly. Sometimes, there's no acknowledgement. No responsibility taken for the crime. Baby, men have been farting all their lives. We know a fart when we hear it no matter how well you think you're muffling it. Then in all of your audacity, you throw us THE most disgusted look when we let one out the chamber. And then, as if part of your master plan, you have us feeling bad for something that should come as no surprise from us. So much so, we actually sit in your presence with all types of cramps and pains and such from holding them in longer than humanly possible as to not nasally offend you.

So let's compromise. I'm not suggesting you hold it in like you did before you realized that there was a loophole in the system...a virtual glitch in the matrix. All I'm saying is maybe do the ladylike thing on occasion and act like you have to run into the other room to get something…you know, like you were doing all those times you acted like you had to run into the other room to get something.

Thanks for listening.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Porn flicks, undercarriages and overhead

Funny story. When I was just taking up running, I went in when it came to having the right equipment. The shoes, the aerodynamic looking long sleeve shirts and even the biker shorts [the knowledgeable term: compression shorts] looking things that you wear under your running shorts. So there I was, getting my run on. Looking cool while doing it. All is good…until I had a snag. No, literally a snag. It seems that the compression shorts’ seams were situated just perfectly enough to catch on to a hair or two from the underside of it all while I was mid-stride. Needless to say, I didn’t hesitate in separating the two parties immediately while simultaneously making a note to make sure that I never have to experience that unpleasantness again. Asterisk and all.

Later that evening, I stood in front of the full-length mirror with the cheap trimmers in hand. I stood there and just hesitated. Rapidly moving little blades powered by electrical current are not any of my choices of things I want in the area of my groin. I never imagined a time where I’d find myself in that scenario but there I was. So I flipped the switch, took a deep breath and got to work. For those of you who don’t know, that area is the most sensitive skin on a man’s body – bar none. Needless to say, I maneuvered with a surgeon’s precision.

So then, one day, I was watching an adult movie (I've been known to view a few. I'm a man dammit. See the 6th sense for clarification) and I noticed two significant things. One, there was no storyline. Just some small talk after a staged situation and then it was straight to business. No complaints from me at the time, because I would have fast-forwarded through all of that filler anyway. I'm just saying.

The second thing I noticed was…there was quite a bit of hair…missing. I mean, I know it’s the thing now for the female stars to have the Brazilian thing going on whether it be the “landing strip” or “back to the essence” but either I’ve been really, really oblivious to it or it’s a somewhat recent (when I say recent, I mean the last some odd years) occurrence that the dudes are doing the same. Now chests shaved, stomachs shaved and backs too…I know about that. But down there? All gone? I find myself taking pause on that latest trend. In my wonder years, I was a kid that could not wait for the hairs to sprout down yonder. For me to go back to that look is not something I see myself doing - ever. I mean, trimming the underbelly of the beast was for practical purposes. The land above the beast’s dwelling is a totally different thing. On a weekend morning after getting your moonlight on, a man likes to sit in front of his television in his shorts, boxers or pajama pants and get his Al Bundy on. To find nothing there but skin and stubble is not my idea of solace.

“Well, that’s gonna be a problem – I laser. It’s like a turtle shell down there.”

Dennis, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, ‘Manhunters’ Episode

Later that evening, I found myself in front of that same mirror holding those same cheap clippers. This time, however, I paused not from fear but because I was surveying the land. I knew damn well I wasn’t going to do my best military barber impersonation down there. I had land somewhere in the middle because what I was noticing was a patch of land with no boundaries and no neatness. I had to tip-toe the line between getting too involved in the process and doing my part since women go through the regular task of having things presentable. It’s the least I could do. And the could do, I did…with some impressive results. So here I am, writing to you all…proud…to be a manscaper.

Monday, November 24, 2008

the 6th sense

Okay. The feedback that I’ve received from my last blog is that I should have went for mines, gone in, got me some, went in…or whatever apt, colorful phrase you could think of. On the one hand, I am a gentleman with gentlemanly ways. But on the other hand, I’m a man, dammit. So don’t, for one minute, think that I didn’t want to go for mines, go in and get me some. The very basis of animal attraction dictates that I should have that desire (And I did mainly because I’m a man, dammit.). But what separates man from beast is our brain and ability to think. That, and the fact that we have rooms and receptacles equipped with plumbing designated for relieving our bowels.

“When a man gets a hard on, you know where the blood comes from, right? His head and his feet. So A, he’s stupid and B, he can’t run.”

- ‘Savon Garrison’, Love Jones

Over the years, through trial and error, I’ve kinda worked on honing my senses. Hindsight is 20/20 and to be honest, I don’t have the time for it all. I figure I’ve done and been through enough to fill a small pocket handbook of the do’s and don’ts of life. Now, what I choose to do with the pertinent information contained in those pages is solely up to me.

For example, Chapter Three: Be Cool tells me to weather through the storm (a.k.a. the whirlwind of emotions) of the initial connection. There is SO much involved in the beginning. You have to let it die down before you can see.

“I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way”

- Johnny Nash

At the same time, we (and when I say we, I refer to all men) are all human and more than likely, have gotten caught up. For me to say that I haven’t or even attempt to give you the impression that I never have would be a disservice to you all and the point of my writing. Hell, I could get caught up tomorrow. Anything is possible.

I didn’t always write about things that I’ve been through. But I did do a decent job of remembering with adequate detail, my accomplishments and my mistakes.

If any of what I’m about to tell you all can apply to women then, by all means, tell me…because I’m curious. I’ll always want to learn from women.

Lately, I’ve been making a conscious effort to discern the difference between all the different levels of excitement…for a lack of a better word. For me…now…there’s a difference between the rush I get from driving in excess of 100 miles per hr and the rush I get from an attractive woman in my presence revealing her “self” for the first time to me in the most intimate of moments. Five, six, seven plus years ago? No difference. It was just heart pounding and deep breathing across the board. I recognize the similarity between waiting for her to pick up the phone when I make that first, crucially important phone call and waiting to see her reaction when I surprise her with something. Then there’s the difference between lust and intense infatuation and deep desire. I wish I could actually describe these things but I can’t. For one, I’m not that good and two, everyone is different.

Now back to my situation…

I knew exactly what I was feeling. It took about a minute but I successfully settled into Chapter Three and got my wits about me. The first time I visited, I stayed the night. The second time, I stayed the night and awoke to her laying next to me in her t-shirt and panties. I tend to play things down and told myself that it was natural for someone to get too hot in the middle of the night and uncover themselves. That’s what I told myself when I went to bathroom. I didn’t have an explanation for when I came out and found her ironing in the same (very short) t-shirt and panties. I mean, I stared for a few seconds and still, nothing came to me. Not an explanation, anyway.

Moving on…

In a perfect world, I can wake up seemingly “ready” for a sexual episode, come on to a woman, give her something incredible to reminisce about during the week that lies ahead and not have a reason to think about the repercussions of feelings, wrong impressions and attachment. But, I’m not Hank Moody. No, in my world, I can wake up seemingly “ready” for a sexual episode, come on to a woman and be stopped dead in my tracks with explicit instructions to point my thing elsewhere or I can bring us to the point of speechlessness, shortness of breath and ultimate exertion only to be told afterwards that she doesn’t “just sleep around” so naturally, she thought [you fill in the rest].

With that said, I feel like I have to think beyond it all. And since I don’t see it coming, I miss the opportunity to devote thought to it in advance. Instead, I’m in the starters block, poised and ready to go…but essentially blindfolded until the gun goes off. It’s either a straight 100 meter dash or it’s the 110 meter hurdles…and we’ve all seen that hurdles can be a btch to clear.

It’s become increasingly difficult to argue the point made by my boys (and some women, mind you) that I’m grown and any woman that I’m dealing with is grown as well…so they know full well what’s going on when it’s going on. That’s absolutely true. As long as there isn’t any leading on then I’m good to go. Right?

Thursday, November 13, 2008

the love below

I was cool with this one chick. I didn't know her well enough to say anything on the contrary of her being cool. We hung out one time months before the story I'm telling you now. We got a bite to eat. Got some drinks. Had conversation. Exchanged background info and chuckled and laughed all the while. Good times. From that time to this story we ran into each other at the gym at least once a week. Nothing different happened from my perspective that could explain a change in the course of events so any insight on that would have to come from her. What I do know is I got a text from her asking if I wanted to come by her spot and watch this documentary on TV once I left the gym. I accepted the invite and asked her if there was anything I should bring. She suggested a bottle of wine. Cool was the response I gave but nervousness was the feeling once we disconnected. Not because I was going over her place, but because I didn't know anything about picking wines. (Hell, I don't really know much more now than I did then.)

Anyone that knows me, may or may not be aware that I tend to play things down in regards to 'matters of the heart'. And it for that very reason that when I ended up staying the night (per her suggestion since it was very late) I assumed I was going to crash on the couch. And it was still for that same reason that when I ended up laying in her bed (again, per her suggestion), it never crossed my mind that something would 'go down' (no pun intended).

Now, as I write this, I have to ponder on the possibility that maybe she was really clever with hers. Before I got into the bed with her, she insisted that I remove my shorts and shirt because I wore them to the gym and that would be unsanitary. So…yours truly was in his boxers while she lay in her tank top and shorts. I know...I know. She had me stripped down to my essentials like she was running things. What did I do? Uh…nothing.

Me and her. We were cool. There weren't enough 'signs' for me to even think about making a move. Was I going to show her that I only had sex on my mind and was incapable of laying besides an attractive woman without making a pass at her? Absolutely not.

Fast forward.

A week and some goes by. She's at my place. We're watching 'Breakin'' commenting on the homo-erotic undertone of the movie. We're drinking wine again. Buggin' out. Pointing out different things. The combination of the libations and the long week had her knocked…out. The tables turn and she's staying the night (per my invitation). I tell her it's time for to get in the bed. She feigns reluctance, albeit unconvincingly. I give her a shirt to change into, leave the room to put things away and turn things off. I get back and she's already found her way under the covers…fast asleep. Ten minutes later, I find myself following suit.

Skip ahead a couple of hours and we're at the part where I wake up from her backing herself into me slightly. As fast as I open my eyes, I close them. Move ahead some more and she's done it again but with emphasis. A certain level of comfort has been reached now so I put my hand on her waist/hip area. My eyes stay open this time because she's pantyless. Yes, sans cullote.

Now, I'm confused, shocked, puzzled and yes…a little flustered. I'm lying. A LOT flustered. She, up against me. Shirt, up around her waist. And as a result, I was up too. (I'm a man, dammit. Don't judge me.)

"Maybe I'll just roll over and lay on her booty. Yeah. Naw naw naw. Now just lay here and be cool, Ice Cold."

Andre 3000 - Where are my Panties? from The Love Below.

Long story made slightly shorter. I didn't come on to her. Not because she scared the sht out of me when she woke up that morning and immediately asked (with a serious tone) where her panties were. She thought it was funny. I didn't. Not at first. 10 minutes later? Maybe. I didn't make that move because my sixth sense advised against it.


Yes, men have a sixth sense when it comes to you all. I'll explain next time…

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Right Recipe

If I knew the right recipe to successfully make imaginations reality then what I'm about to say would either be a premonition or a recollection...depending on when I tell it. And if this was a premonition, then this is how I'd imagine things would go…

I'd say, "Instead of standing here before you, spewing pseudo game and belittling the significance of this moment, I'm going to tell you that the very first time I laid thoughts on you."

You, no less, would find yourself somewhere between intrigued, confused and apprehensive. I'd begin by telling you that the first time, I boarded the subway and took my usual place by the doors. You, sitting across from me, had your head down, engrossed in a book. I was typing away a blog idea on my phone. I glanced at you a few times…took note of your earth tone ensemble of greens and browns. I admired your natural coif in between sentences. I dug your jacket with the cool collar after every period typed. I must have got lost in it all because you looked up at me, maybe feeling my eyes burrowing into your head.

The second time, believe it or not, was that very same day. I was standing at the window table of the Pad Thai spot waiting for my order when you walked by with may or may not have been a female co-worker. The fact that you and I could possibly inhabit the same work radius drew a bit of childlike excitement.

The third time, was at a nightclub…on the Friday of that same week. The swagger and bravado that I managed to save up for my night out, was shelved when I realized it was you. The same you in front me of all week. I tried to make eye contact with you…figuring that the club lights would lessen the effect of your piercing eyes. But it wasn't to be.

The fourth time was weeks later. We walked in opposite directions on the same strip of sidewalk on the same side of the street right in front of Foot Action.

The fifth time was some time after that. Same dance, different location…passing Victoria's Secret. The fifth time would have been the last time but the sixth time made sure it wasn't. The sixth time seemed like a whirlwind. Imagine my surprise to see you in the seven days young fitness center residing in my place of employment. Imagine my nervousness to see you in the seven days young fitness center residing in my place of employment. After jumping from machine to treadmill to machine, I tried to answers questions I couldn't.

"Can I have your attention please? The Fitness Center will be closing in twenty minutes. Thank you."

I head to the stretch area only to find you there. Not feeling brash enough to approach you, I stretch on the opposite side. I sneak peaks in an attempt to find some evidence that you're not the same person only to find no definitive proof. I grab my bag and belongings from my locker and exit. Heading to the elevators, I turn around briefly and see you again... just yards behind me. The elevator doors open, I arrive first and hold the door. You enter last, thanking me. I tell you you're welcome, making this our first official interaction. I know, it's corny…but under these circumstances, I'll take it.

We exit the building, you ahead of me. You turn right at the corner and cross the street. I continue straight. We part ways.

The funny thing about it is, after I travelled about 2 blocks towards my destination, questioning the likelihood that you were a doppelganger with the present day mission of playing mind tricks, I never even attempted to turn around because I convinced myself with a great deal of success that you were probably across the street. And as silly as it may seem right now, it wasn't that far fetched when I walked down the platform only to see you standing there…waiting for the same train. I never looked directly at you once I was close enough for you to notice me. I did pull out my smartphone to make a note reminding myself to chronicle all events leading to now.

Four stops into the train ride and I'm picking up my gym bag preparing to exit at the next. I glance over at you. You're deep in a book again…reminiscent of my first thoughts. I managed to catch the cover of the book and noticed the word Dexter. This is too much. That's one of my favorite shows. I only found out last week that the show was based on a novel…and here you are reading it.

Doors open.

I'm not really sure what compelled me to, but I look over at you one last time. Already accepting that what I didn't comprehend before is now all too apparent to me. You're there. That's you. And here I am. You look up at me, smile and we both say goodnight.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Arrogance [Darkside Series]

Damn, dude. You walked right past me with a look on your face. I said what's up to you and you said it back but there was something else there. That gut feeling is a motherfcuker, ain't it? I know, I know. It's like you feel something but there's no telling what it is. Lucky for you, I'm here to clear that up.


Now understand something. This isn't a rap music bravado type thing or one of those generic R&B themes where the dude brags about how he's sleeping with another dude's woman. I mean, the characters are the same but the scenario is different. See, you're woman…yes, I slept with her. But wait now. Hold on a second. Don't get all red in the face with your fists clenched. You two weren't together at the time.


You don't believe me, do you? Fine.


I made her acquaintance the week after you two took the trip to Splitsville. I had small talk with her twice that week before we ended up exchanging phone numbers. The following week, she went out of town to see her best friend.
Now do you believe me? Good, because I didn't want to get into how we talked every evening and text messaged each other during the day. Nor do I want to get into how it all started off innocent and at some point turned flirtatious…with the provocative pictures and all…telling me what she wanted me to do to her and things of that nature. Nah, that's not something you want to hear. Not to mention the fact that I know all about you and how you treated her. I know about how you managed to stress her out even when she was away and you two were no longer a couple. I know about your anger issues. I know about the constant disrespect. It's no wonder she came to my place just days after getting back to town. It's no wonder she wanted to see my bedroom as soon as she walked in. Can you blame her? Don't answer that. Because if you did attempt to justify your actions and fault hers then and only then would I be forced to get really arrogant with you.


What's really arrogant?


Me telling you that the way she told it, you ain't no lightweight when it comes to the package. The way she tells it now though, I beat you in the long run. That's really arrogant. Me telling you that she told me that she's never climaxed before…ever. Well, until she was with me. That's really arrogant. Me telling you what it felt like for her…the feeling that came over her entire body when I touched her spot. That's arrogant too. Me telling you the sounds she made and what she looked like at that exact moment from the eyes rolling back with the mouth open and the toes curled and the hands grabbing sheets and scratching walls. Well see, that's just ignorant. And I don't want to get ignorant with you. Yeah, one might say you had all this coming. Another might say that this right here most definitely knocks you off your high horse and while you, most assuredly, will get back on...the ride won't be the same.


So here we are crossing paths for the first and if she can control it, the last. You two are back together now. Good for you. I'm a little confused as to how you did it because she's called me a few times upset and crying about the usual drama. But hey, it is what it is. Just know, that thing with the pillow…you know…when she folds it and puts…anyway…if she hasn't mentioned it, don't ask questions…just go with the flow. Trust me. And if she has mentioned it and you are doing that thing…


You're welcome. I taught her that.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Picture Perfect

Let's be honest. Me and you. When we go out, it's a date. And if what goes on with us is not what normally happens on a date then it should be. Admit it.

Now, close your eyes for a moment.

Picture it. We meet up.

You, exuding sexiness with the high heels, the jeans that fit so well – sitting right where they should on your hips, giving your lower back tat just enough room to taunt and tease, the summer blouse with the soft shoulders on display and your smooth upper back out, stylish bag on your arm – catching looks and compliments, your lips are glistening with a color that accents your skin tone – making any man wonder if they're as soft as they look, and your hair is out – flowing with ever step.

Me, I'm in my man mode. I'm casual, but still on that every day sexy. I have to be. I can't half-ass when it comes to us and our time together. I got on the fitting tee – chest is popping out through the logo, jeans – perfect length coupled with the perfect fit, sneakers – clean and match the tee perfectly, I'm shaved and shaped up and finish it all off with the smell good cologne.

Damn, we look good together. We flow well together too. Nothing is awkward here. I'm the thoughtful gentleman. I always walk street side. I scan ahead of your stride to make sure your path is without danger. I hold your hand when you step down steep curbs and steps. I'm always within your reach should you need me. That's me on the regular. That's us, all the time.

We find a cute little Indian spot and have dinner. We talk sht, laugh and joke with one another. Good times, Good times. Afterwards, we get some shakes for dessert. We play with each other while on line. Playful. We look like a couple. We act like a couple. In the span of two hours, we set things up for the perfect foreplay…the natural next step. Bodies intertwined and pressed against one another. Sucking, biting, licking and loving. You feel it too.

But wait. Open your eyes. We're just friends.

Even though the taboo ideas have travelled from your slumbered thoughts to your day's dreams…it won't go further than that. The curiosity peaks there and so the question will never be answered. Seriously, what we have…when we go out…I want you to have that with someone else…I want you to have that sexy night and top it off with that sexy sex. Hell, I want myself to have it too. Let's just make a deal that whoever has it first, promises to confirm that it really is like nothing else.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Women Are the Worst

Yeah, you read the title right. I said it. I'm not taking it back either. I will add a word, however…to the beginning…"Some". Some Women are the Worst.

I'm sitting upstairs in the lunch room at work and two young women walk in with their food in hand. Before they can even sit down, one is in dilemma mode. I can tell from her tone that it's most likely about a guy.

"He says he needs a break."

Yup. I knew it. Boyfriend troubles.

"I asked him how after two years, can he just stop like that all of a sudden. He says that we're getting too serious too fast."

She continues while her girlfriend listens and almost on cue, gives her two cents. Negative cents, I might add. Here I am thinking to myself that not once did she ask for her opinion. From my vantage point, she's getting things off her chest. From what I'm hearing, she's telling a friend about her problem. Instead of getting an open ear, she gets a closed mind. As a result of having her own heart broken or being without love at the moment or unable to let go of the smallest issues and holding grudges for an irrational amount of time or just being an overall bitter person, this woman might make a bad decision and lose what she spent two years building.

Ladies, if you're having issues with your man or a man, don't talk to your "men are dogs" girlfriend (You know the type, too critical of men…can't keep a man…always saying something negative more than she's saying something positive about him – girlfriend). Go talk to your Mrs. girlfriend (You know, happily married) or "me and my man communicate and we're happy together" girlfriend. Or even a dude. Yes, your male friend. Not the dude that's a man whore. And not the dude that has a secret crush on you (Don't act like you don't know he has one. This isn't one of those cheesy love movies). Instead, ask the genuine friend, the one that wants you to be happy because he knows you and knows you deserve it. Why? Because we generally don't want to get involved in your beefs and drama and matters of the heart. We'll always listen but for the most part, we won't give you our opinion unless you ask. Also, you'll get a better idea of what might be going through a man's mind from another man since we are men. It comes natural to us. Really.

Now for the difficult part…break FREE of the Negative Nancy's in your tight circle. The longer they carry that negativity, the stronger their will is imposed on you and anyone else that doesn't want to be alone and single. I'm not saying to cut her off - just her mental hold. Give me 5 minutes past the initial greeting and I'll tell you who she is. For example, if I run into a woman and she's with her girlfriends and I'm introduced to them for the first time there's no need whatsoever for me to have any of that nastiness or rudeness directed towards me unless I've done something despicable or deplorable towards her. What's funny [read: sad] is that she'll dismiss her behavior as diva-like or something along those lines. News flash: I haven't met a dude yet that's looking for that trait in a woman. Let's be clear, I'm not a happy-go-lucky type of guy but I've never shown attitude to any woman I've never met before. I'm too mature to not be above that. So ask yourself if you recall her ever telling you to give someone the benefit of the doubt or giving you thought out constructive criticism. If not, then she's not in your corner. She's just trying to keep you in hers.

Think about it.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

The First Time Women Found Me Cute

I remember the first time I realized that women (yes, women) found me cute. Not cute like a baby. Not cute like a pair of shoes. But cute like adorable. Cute like ...Damn. I could just eat him up. Cute. Yeah. Like that.

The characters: Me at thirteen. My best friend at thirteen also. Exactly three weeks older than me. And a woman. Yes, a woman. But not just any woman. This was one attractive woman. Make you nervous woman. So fine, she doesn't even notice 13 year old boys sneaking glances at her. She was serious. I'm so sincere.

The setting: A department store that we cut through to get to the mall. My friend had a puzzling obsession with Swatch watches.

Remember those??

Anyway. Every time we went to the mall, we had to look at the watches. He already had more watches than I had sneakers. But it didn't matter. It was one of many obsessions that pubescent boys would have growing up. There were comic books, Transformers, freestyle bikes, sneakers, Hilfiger© shirts, music, baggy jeans, Starter© caps and jackets, Carhart© jackets, Designer© markers, graffiti and then girls.

[Author's note: Please excuse my excessive use of the © symbol. I just learned the keyboard shortcut and I'm a little excited.]

Now remember, this was the time of no internet. So there was no going online to their website to see what was the latest and greatest. We had to do things the old fashioned way...actually go to the stores. Man we had it rough. LOL.

So here we are. At the watch counter. I show interest at the initial arrival but that quickly wanes. Now I'm looking elsewhere. Looking for nothing in particular. Just looking. Still looking. He's finally done. We move on.

We're walking. We're talking...about young boy things. He says something to me. I turn to say something back and I see her. This black woman, beautiful by a 9th grader's standards...with her make up on and her hair braided down the back, was heart-stopping. She was working behind a counter. I don't remember what those cases contained. They could have had free money in them and I wouldn't have noticed. She looked that good.

I tell my boy to look. I have no couth so I point right at her. She doesn't see me or us. We were about 30 feet away. Even still, she's too busy being beautiful.

Still on some young boy behavior because I'm still a young boy, I dare him to go and ask her where the bathroom is. He pauses and grins and then agrees to do it. I'm excited, surprised and hype all at the same time. He turns and starts walking over to her.

Not 5 paces later, he starts giggling guessed it...a young boy displaying young boy behavior. I follow suit with the giggling. Now we're laughing in unison. He says I made him laugh. I'm laughing too hard to argue.

Right at that moment, I decided to man up. For those unfamiliar with manning up, know that there are several levels of manupism. This was the very first level. It was time to show and prove. I was going to walk up to her. And when I got up to her, I was going to be smooth. And while I was being smooth, I was going to ask her...ummm ...where ...uh ...the bathroom was. Yeah that's it. No, really, that was the best I could come up with. I was a young boy. Fresh outta the eight grade. That's as clever as it gets. Sorry.

So my heart's pounding something serious. Forget about feeling it thump in my chest, I could HEAR it!!! But I'm at the counter now. She still doesn't see me.

I say to her (like my mom taught me), "Excuse me."

She turns, "Hi. How can I help you?"

But wait. She says it with a British accent. Whoa. Hold up. I wasn't prepared for that. I had never heard a woman speak with an accent like that…much less a Black woman.

For what seemed like an eternity, the words bounced around in my adolescent head. And that was followed by the sweet scent of her perfume hitting my nostrils. It was pretty much a done deal for me. All that was left was for me to seal it. With what you ask? Try my voice cracking. Yes, that's correct. There was no better indication of me being a young boy than my voice cracking when I asked her where the bathroom was. I was mortified. I think I shrunk a little.

She flashed one of those "Aww. How cute is he?" smiles and pointed me to the nearest one.

I thanked her, walked away and met up with my boy. He asked what happened. I told him.

He said, "I'm happy I didn't go."

I was happy I did.