New York Times

“…Write about that.”

“Wife. Wife. Hey wife!”

I’ve never walked down any aisle and said “I do” to anyone, so it took me quite a few moments to realize that the bald, midnight-hued man on the other side of the twelve-foot fence was calling out to me.

My glasses comfortably lounging on the coffee table in my living room, I struggled to inspect his features while trying to not give away my obvious lack of 20/20. A few seconds and squints later, it was clear that the man awaiting his turn on the court was not someone I knew playing a joke as I’d thought, but a nearly complete stranger.

Nearly, because I realized this was the same man who had murmured something as he walked behind me and to the court 10 minutes prior. I was more interested in the fierce game of handball going on between a girl and her father opposite the bball courts than clarifying what he’d said.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you.” He said, nodding his head, clearing all confusion. “This is my mom.”

A pretty older woman with a thick french braid circling her head stood next to him, looked at me Flo Johnston-style over the square-framed glasses hanging on the tip of her keen nose.

“You readin’ the bible on yer phone?”

Her Jamaican accent was strong, natural, and unexpected. So delightful it had pulled a smile from me before I noticed. She pointed an accusatory finger at the Blackberry in my left hand, opened to twitter and probably something far from scripture, knowing my timeline. The beliefs of the host of creatives I follow vary just as much as their minds.

“Um..” I was still trying to process the fact that I’d gotten married and met mom in less than one minute to a strange man in red basketball shorts. Vegas can’t even claim that.

“You have a bible at home?” Still peering over her glasses and now an expectant “mom” look in her eyes, I quickly scanned my memory to make sure I wasn’t lying to my new stranger mother in law.

“I do.”

“You read it?”

“Sometimes.” A tinge of conviction crept in for having not been reading the bible on my phone at that moment. I planned a visit to church Sunday in my head. Her stern mom look? PERFECTED.

“You need to be readin’ it. Make sure you read it.” She gave me a nod and walked off to talk to some of the other young men loitering on each side of the games being played.

I went back to the handball game.

“Wait where are you going? Why you leaving?” Bald man asked again, this time standing next to me as I headed for the station fifty feet away a few minutes later. I took note of him now, his smooth goatee, the nice teeth. My mind immediately whizzed through friends I could introduce him to. (I’m a matchmaker in my head. But that’s another post altogether).

“Home?” I used my slightly sarcastic is-that-okay-with-you? tone.

“You going home to someone?” He reached out to grab my arm but thought better of it, let his hand drop to his side.

I told him yes, and cut him off when he began to speak again to ask if that was really his mother.

It was. Crazy.

“You have a dog? You look like the type to have a puppy.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I’ve been calling the #Him “Puppy” since I’ve known him. I smirked. “I do, actually.”

After going through the song and dance of him asking me to stay and hang out, and me saying I was going home in the next 20 seconds, he asked if I had a “man at home.”

I said yes, prepared to hear the customary “we can be friends then” shtick that men continue to use despite the less than .000010¬†success rate I imagine it has.

That, didn’t happen though. He pushed his large hands out away from me. “Okay, I’m not going to disrespect your relationship. I’m happy for you. I’m happy for him.”

Shocked and/or impressed is pretty accurate a description for the expression I’m sure I wore. I laughed. “Wow. Thank you.”

“See you were expecting me to holler anyway, right? Mmhmm. Nah. I respect relationships, despite what all the articles y’all read say about us.”

I knew the collective “us” he was referring to was men who happen to stop you while you’re walking along minding your business (or standing at the train station, or just trying to read a book at the park) and insist that you somehow need them in your life.

I laughed again. “Sometimes I write them too.”

“Oh, you’re a writer? See, not all of us are disrespectful. Go tell all your friends. Write about that.”

And with that, I parted ways with my five-minute husband, waved goodbye to his mom as I walked past.

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32 thoughts on ““…Write about that.”

  1. LOL i love it!!!! great story. and i too am shocked when a man doesnt pull the “well we can be friends” or “whats your man got to do with me?” lines.

    great post!

  2. Dayyyyyyyyummmm! Somebody ate their Wheaties today! LMAO But anyway, I get it. You said he was midnight hued and had good teeth and wanted to be married right? What’s the address of the park?!? LOL j/k

  3. WAIT. He didn’t call you all types of bitches and tell you how you “wasn’t all that anyway” when you said you had a man and rebuffed his advances?

    MIND. BLOWN.

  4. Wow!

    This tops the teenager who knocked on my door last night with a message from his mom, who lives downstairs, to tell me that she thought I was “attractive”. I told him to tell Peaches that I’m very much coupled then I laughed in his face.

    Thanks Muze for making feel much better about the thirst and familiarity of the ninjas.

  5. good post muze. yeah you are something of a matchmaker in your head. not all dudes go the “well we can’t be friends?” route. some of us have respect. you can kind of gauge which way a man is going to go in how he initially approaches you. if he’s like “yo ma what’s up?” you can pretty much bet that he’s gonna disrespect your relationship when you make it known that you’re in one.

  6. *laughing at the angry black man who got served up top* anyway, this was a great break away from the monotony of number crunching. thank you for writing about it LOL

  7. I love your writing Muze. I laughed that he introduced you to his Mom right that second. What if something actually evovled? I hope whoever he is finds a wonderful woman. Btw, go Mom for asking if you read the Bible! :-)

  8. I’m with Rae. I heard about the hoopla too lol. Anyways, This is cute. He was brave to approach you like that. He probably running game tho lol…good game tho LOL. I need to hook him up with my sister lol

  9. this. post. slayed me!!!
    i mean.. wait.. WIFE???? that’s an intro now??
    and his mom? really? HIS MOM??
    and THEN you are gonna try and holla AFTER that???
    but i do like the end of the story. so pleasantly surprised.

  10. That has to be one of The’ absolute worst come-ons I have ever heard described. I believe you just met the proverbial 40-year-old Virgin-oid, who after having tried everything else that came to what I imagine is a very tiny little alien mind, concluded, ‘I’ll use mom, yeah that’ll work’.

    The depths of that desperation are equal parts scary, pathetic, sad ,pitiable, embarrassing on a number of levels, and just so downright awful, I’m surprised you had the courage to write about it. I think most women who’ve had similar experiences likely just want very much to forget it. But I suppose such awkward social moments probably happens more often than we realize.

    Thinking about it I feel bad for the guy, he’s probably lonely, his mom is likely the only woman in his life, and when she is gone his actual daily contact with the feminine will shrink to something approaching zero, and the emptiness, bitterness and anger he in all likelihood feels towards women, will only grow. An already difficult existence with even further reduced chances he’ll ever have any meaningful contact with the opposite sex.

    But perhaps I’m being overly pessimistic, because even for the least of us, even for the bassist, vilest ugliest most obnoxious, most undesirable of creatures, there is always the possibility that there’s some woman out there, some Venus in a muumuu, who’ll take pity on our poor unfortunate existence. Maybe she’ll even give him a kiss, hoping to turn him into a prince. No doubt that happens more often than most suspect, or admit, as well. :)

Say it loud, say it proud... just not in all caps.

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