Went to get the hair braided yesterday. The usual. Sixteen cornbraids with a little hair added to give my nat’ral some support. This takes about 3 hours. Sometimes longer if the shop is crowded or we’re talking smack. Smack covers a wide variety of topics: politics, music, film (my favorite), race, religion, gender, sex and men (I love when we talk about sex and men).
This shop, in the “unnamed county 30 miles east of Alabama,” is both a barber shop and a beauty salon. Sometimes there are a lot of men in there, sometimes there are a lot of women, too. Yesterday, the place was packed. However, my beautician, “Lisa,” had an opening, so I sort of glided on through. After she washed and trimmed my hair, I began talking with the beautician next to her “Judy.” It started with “How were your holidays?” From there we discussed the movies we have seen lately, family updates, and other community tidbits.
Four braids later, I noticed a stare. Not just any stare; a long gazing look that could not be mistaken for anything else, but someone checking me out. For about 15 minutes, I honestly thought I was being paranoid, especially with my hair all over my head. Then Judy picked up on it, too, and discreetly proceeded to tease me about it. You see, my admirer was without question, old enough to be my father, or perhaps even my grandfather.
Needless to say, this disturbed me. Genereally, I don’t like going to a salon to get my hair done. I feel this is time I could be writing or watching a movie. But I'm forced to admit that in order to keep my “quaff” looking half-way decent, off to the salon I must go. Plus, the beauty parlor has become my muse of sorts; I usually gain some insight and something to write about. When it became apparent that this mature gentleman was digging me, I realized that I had not yet been inspired. Now, with him drooling over me, I was ready to get the hell out of there, but minus the usual inspiration.
I have been hit on by older men before; especially while in the military (there must be some sort of “Sugar Daddy Sergeants,” club). Yet, I have always been able to politely advise that I am not interested and that they should move on. Yesterday, I was in an unusual predicament. Should I get up out of the chair, walk over and say, “Look Pop-pop, I am not interested in your dusty-ass”? Or would picking my nose, snorting at Judy’s jokes and cursing real loud turn him off?
Another beautician, “Carol,” suggested that I should entertain the advances of this well-dressed, obviously interested man. I am not hating on the May-December relationships, because How Stella Got Her Groove Back, is one of my favorite love stories (although I am sure that currently Terri rues the day she wrote that story). Still, unlike "R (Kelly)," older-younger deals are just NOT my thing. Some would argue that a woman in my position (Black, educated, with children) cannot not afford to be choosy.
About 2 years ago, I finally made the transistion from “earning a living,” to doing what I love. It took 18 years. Now I am on a financial journey. Don’t know how long it will take to accomplish my goals. Some friends who are also on the same mission and I recently discussed that having a significant other with bank could certainly help… Still, I am simultaneously on a journey to make my heart and soul happy. After a marathon of bad relationships, I have decided not to date outside of my race, and that ex-cons are just not my speed. I have friends who have told me that being so selective means I may never find anyone. And while I am sure that my decision yesterday to stay firmly within a 6 year radius (older and younger) of my age, adds even more serious limitations, I am willing to do that.
A friend recently, exasperatedly aksed, "Well, what kind of man, exactly, are you looking for?" I am sure if I could tell her, she would not have been able to pull what I desired out of her back pocket. Nevertheless, I feel silly that I could not really describe "him." However, if he were were still alive, my age and not already married, Malcolm X would embody my ideal mate. One of his quotes even suits this blog entry: A (wo)man who stands for nothing will fall for anything (anybody)."
Axe.
Currently Listening To: The Soundtrack from School Daze (favorite tracks: "Good or Bad Hair," "I Can Only Be Me")
1 comment:
Not sure if you’re looking for answers or just comments here, but it seems to me that if one is married, you often long for independence, and when one is single, a great deal of mental time is spent on “how to get one”, “what to look for” and “boy, it sure would be nice to have one of those”. My first thought is, take care of yourself and be the best woman you can be first and foremost. No ifs, ands or buts. Nothing comes after that. Be the best you that you can be, and the man will come. As for “what do I want in a man?” Well, like Savannah in “Waiting To Exhale”, be specific. A “tall, dark and handsome” “BMW” is just not enough. Think hard about it. Leave age out of the equation, whether older, younger or in-between, what may be the best thing fa’ya’ might not come in a nice, neat package.
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