You know, it’s been quite some time since I gave you all a Men & Dating confession. Partially because I cut myself off from dating. But as of recently, I have decided that it’s time for me to get my tail back out there and meet some men. Mainly because I’m writer and need more material, but also because I am too damn cute to not be going out on dates.
And I’m secretly side-eyeing, cringing, and lowering my head in disgust at almost every guy I’m about to encounter.
Truth be told I have a love/hate relationship with dating. I love it because of the unknown possibilities, meeting new people, and of course the free meal. And yes, I can admit that I sometimes go out on dates for the free meal. My body isn’t going to feed itself, a sista’s gotta eat, and this sista loves to eat at the expense of someone else.
But a huge part of me hates dating because there are a lot eff boys out there. And for those who don’t know what an eff boy is, Urban Dictionary so eloquently describes him as, “Asshole boy who is into strictly sexual relationships; he will lead a girl on and let her down, then apologize only to ask for “pics” once the girl has welcomed him back into her trust.” To read the extended version of this definition and all other variations, click here.
A lot of women have dealt with an eff boy, or two, or five, or if you’re like me, too many to count. With each one being more disappointing that the first. And after encountering so many, they begin to turn you off from dating and have you considering running to the closest convent and converting to becoming a nun just to not have to deal with them anymore.
That’s where I was up until a few weeks ago, when I declared at my friend’s birthday party, that I was going to give my phone number out to every guy in the club.
And in true manifestation fashion (y’all seriously need to get on that manifestation wave if you haven’t already), I gave my phone number out to so many people, that the next morning, I was afraid to answer all text messages and phone calls because I didn’t know who the heck was on the opposite end of the phone. And before you ask, yes, their numbers were all saved. I just drank so much, I couldn’t remember what these gentlemen looked like and had completely forgotten about a lot of them.
Anywho.. I began a text conversation with one guy, who we’ll call “PJ”. PJ was a newbie to Chicago by way of Cali. He was an engineer, big, strong (he picked me up in the club), and appeared to be a gentleman. After beginning casual conversation, he asked if I was at work to which I said, “no”. I was smart in requesting the next day off because I knew that I would need it after boozing, singing, and dancing on a work night. He said he was off too, and we chuckled about great minds thinking alike.
PJ then mentioned that he lived alone, I told him I did too, and we chuckled once again about having great minds. Later on, the conversation went from us getting to know one another, to him asking if I was going to come out by him (which is over an hour from my house), or if he was going to come out by me. I suggested that he come my way, thinking he was trying to plan our first date. He then followed it up with asking if I was going to cook for him, and mentioning how he wanted to take me home the night before.
At that point I had to end the conversation. This man was trying to come to my house for some afternoon nookie and a home cooked meal, after only knowing me for less than 12 hours. I respectfully declined and proceeded about my day.
Shortly after my conversation with PJ, I received a text from a different guy who I’ll call “Jerry”. Now if my memory serves me correctly, Jerry was rather short, and had on a Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles shirt when I met him. I was inhaling tacos when he approached me, and my friends proceeded to poke fun at his petite frame.
Jerry texted me asking if I made it home safely, and what my plans were for the day. He then followed up asking when could he see me again. I told him that yes, I made it home, my day was pretty full even though I was off, and that weekends were best for me.
I guess that wasn’t good enough because Jerry was then asking what time I would be done for the day because he wanted to come over. And that he didn’t mind how late it was.
But I minded.
And there was no way in hell he was about to come to my house after knowing him for less than 12 hours. Maybe in my younger years, I would have been more open to that, but now that I’m older, it just wasn’t going to happen. Besides, he was only titty high, and I have a height requirement.
Now before you ask, no, I have not heard from either one since, and I don’t intend to. And yes, I know that neither one technically led me on only to apologize later, but my eff boy meter is pretty spot on, and I could tell what they were before things went any further than text messages.
And while I am giving Glory to God for deliverance and women’s intuition, I am slightly fearful that this eff boy trend is only going to make it worse for sistas like myself to find companionship.
It’s a shame that in 2018, dating has been relegated to casual hookups, one night stands, and bedroom booms. Trying to decipher a person’s true motives is harder than Chinese Arithmetic, and the thought of meeting someone new sends waves of shock, fear, panic, and anxiety at the thought of them not being who you initially pegged them as. But in situations like this, you only have one of two options:
- Do. Not. Date.
- As my colleague says, “Throw some shit on a wall and see what sticks.” And pray that one of those frogs you meet one day, turns into a prince.
Until then, my dear, keep your eff boy meter on at all times, and be prepared to call them on their shit every chance you get.