On Christmas Eve, my mother asked me about my dating life.
I dodged the question.
On Christmas Day, a friend of the family called.
“Auntie says Merry Christmas and wants to know when you’re getting married.”
Blame the sorrel and spiced rum for my response: “CAN I GO ON A DATE FIRST?! Merry Christmas”
On Boxing Day, my mother casually drops that she has never liked any of the men I’ve dated.
My mother thought I was going to marry one of these dudes! I didn’t even think I was going to marry one of them!
“Uhm. You thought we’d get married…?”
“Yeah. But I realized later. He was a six at best.”
“A SIX? You’d thought I would marry a SIX?”
“Welllll. Not NOW. But you were young then. I didn’t like the cheater at all. Nope.”
“Okay. Not at first, but–”
“Not EVER. I never told anyone. Except your sister. She agreed.”
You welcomed these men into your home. Made meals for them. But you never once expressed your doubts to me?!?!
“I didn’t like the one from high school. The wannabe rapper.”
WAIT. We’re going into the archives?
My mother basically told me ANY dude I’ve brought home over the past 25 years has been “meh”. That is a direct quote. “Meh.”
“You know who I’d think you like? That Steph Curry. I think that would be cute.”
“Mom. I can’t date another liteskint dude. We’d look related!”
(Let’s pause for a moment since my mom laughed for a full twenty seconds.)
“Really? Hmmm. I guess. But if you can’t date light skinned men, how you gonna date a White guy”
“I don’t LOOK WHITE mother”
“Wellllll. Wait. Why are you pouring more rum into that sorrel?”