Ninety-effing-two on the "Marriagability Matrix" - An ITOFTS Bougie Bachelorette Chronicle

*ITOFTS = I'm Too Old For This Shiggity

I recently had a man tell me that I was 92% of what he was looking for. 

Wait for it...

But he really needed that other 8%.


Knowing that "You can take that 92% and stuff it up your anal-retentive anus" was a bit snide not to mention circular in logic and clearly not the right thing to say, I nodded and replied. "Go find it. And good luck."

He later called and tried to explain this "marriagability matrix" that he had in his mind but by that time I was so pissed off that I let loose a string of Beyonce lyrics strung together from all of her albums and punctuated them by slamming the phone down.

For those who are curious, the matrix had the top ten things you absolutely require in a life partner and then you score 1 - 10 on each item to come up with the total number. For giggles (after pear vodka shots), I did a matrix on dude. He was a 72. Did I tell him that? Hell yes I did when he called BACK to say we were just on a break and he needed time. I need no more time to wait on a 72 to get his mind right. Again.

This got me to wondering - if you had to rank your spouse/s.o. on a marriagability matrix - what might you put on it and how might they score? How would you score? Now don't go kicking up dust in your happy homes to feed my curiousity. I asked this question of several married and long-standing relationship couples I know and rarely did they rank each other higher than an 81. And they were happy about it. That's a B. 

I was a 92 and he walked. Say it with me now - I'm too old for this shiggity. We don't have to hold a requiem for this relationship, I'm already onto the next. Cuz apparently in addition to being an A-, I'm a serial monogamist and a glutton for punishment... :-/

Do you believe in rankings/criteria when it comes to choosing a mate or just go with your gut/heart? Do tell...

ITOFTS: When keeping it #Scandal goes wrong

*ITOFTS = I'm too old for this shiggity! And if you haven't watched last night's Scandal, quit reading!!

1:37am phone rings. I think I'm dreaming so I turn over.

1:39am phone rings again. I drank one glass of wine too many during #Scandal so I was in a deep, sound (there might have been snoring) sleep. Plus, the temperature dropped from seventy to thirty something so I was hibernating under the covers like a bear in winter time. By the time I got one hand free, the phone stopped ringing.

1:41am phone ring one mo' good time. Dammit. It MUST be an emergency, right? I yank it off the charger, press the ON button and mutter, "What?"

"So if I bought you a house would you come back?" Apparently, Dude had watched this:


I don't even open an eye. "Who is this?" I knew but I was testy.

"You know who it is. If I bought a house where you wanted and fixed it up exactly how you wanted, would that work?"

"Work for what?"

"Would that be what you need to see to come back, give me another shot?"

"You think you know me well enough to buy me the exact house of my dreams or might you assume, as you've done on other occasions, that you know better and do the exact wrong damn thing? And after I accept the house, I'm supposed to live there with you and suddenly we'll just live happily ever after like a damn fairy tale? I'm not Cinderella, you're no Prince Charming."

"I woke you up huh."


"But if I got it right and it wasn't 2 in the morning, would it work?"

"Was that your first episode of Scandal?"

"Yes. But that stuff he said about the dream was deep."

"And fiction. Dreams are dreams. Let me say this, you're no Fitz and I'm no Olivia. We don't have that climb every mountain, cross every sea kinda love. I don't embrace drama and I don't think love has to be crazy to be real. So... No. A house wouldn't work."

"I'm downloading Season One."

"Happy watching." CLICK. Flung phone across room mumbling, "Trifling Negreaux watches one episode of Scandal and thinks he's unlocked the secrets of the female psyche. Jesus be some sense and some call block." I was back to sleep as soon as I turned over.

My life, your entertainment. Say it with me now: I'm too old for this shiggity.

One for the ITOFTS files - First date fail, WDDDA?!

*ITOFTS = I'm too old for this shiggity
*WDDDA = Where Dey Do Dat At?

Met a guy in the Wine & Imported Beer section of Central Market about a week ago. We chatted about Chardonnay, preened over Pinot, grinned over Gew├╝rztraminer, murmured over Moscato. You get the idea. Everything is witty repartee when you're perusing bottles of fermented beverage. As I moved towards the seafood counter, he asked for my name and phone number. I gave him my first name and my Google Voice number and went on with my shopping. Let's say his name was Sam.

Sam called today and asked if I wanted to come out and watch football with him. I said sure, where would he like to meet? He gave me the name of a place I hadn't heard of. I questioned, "Where is that, I don't think I'm familiar with it?" He told me where it was and I frowned. The street he named is a notorious red light district. To the best of my knowledge, nothing was on that side of the highway but strips clubs, shady pay-by-the-hour no-tell motels, liquor stores, gas stations, gun stores and a huge Sam's Warehouse. (Quite the combination of retail, don't you think?)

Jokingly I said, "You aren't inviting me to a strip club for a first date, are you?" Silence. Epic silence. And the all the crickets stopped chirping in dismay. I spoke again, "Sam? Is this a strip club?"

"It's an upscale gentlemen's club, not a sleazy titty bar, what's wrong with that? They have great game day specials. I always have fun there." No doubt.

I was literally struck speechless. Like my mouth moved but no words were forming or falling out of it.

He jumped in. "Oh, you're one of those. You're repressed, you need to ease into this. Let me meet you for coffee first."

I stayed speechless. How do you come out of the gate with strip club and then try to fall back to Starbuck's to work back up to the strip club? I finally found my voice. "You know, I think I'll pass. But have a great time."

"What do you mean you'll pass? You don't want to go out today or at all?" Sam sound confused.

That made two of us. I was confused too. The guy who knew more about wine point scales than I ever would and could pontificate about soil in California vs. Argentina producing merlot vs. malbec thought the booty bar was fine entertainment on a first date? It wasn't just the wine conversation, brother gave good grocery store gab. It did not compute. I wasn't in the mood for a mystery. "At all." I answered shortly.

"Wow. You're really narrow-minded. You need to-"

"Sam, I'm going to stop you right there. Before you waste both of our time running game that works on a confused twenty-two year old. Enjoy your day." Click. Pull up Google Voice option. Automatically block number. And done.

People, is it me? Is the strip-club-as-first-date invitation what's hot in the streetz? I'm unable. I don't have anything against "gentlemen's clubs" if people want to pay women to shake their hindparts, I say do you. I have nothing against Cristal and nem getting rained on at the House of Cheeks. It's not my thing. It's most assuredly not my thing on a first date with someone I'm trying to find out more about. To quote the movie Bad Boys, "How do you concentrate with all the scattered ass everywhere?" I don't know. But I will say this... I'm too old for this.

Fellas, would you take a first date to a strip club? Ladies, would you go on a first date? Am I missing something? Please respond...

ITOFTS - What kind of woman would I be? Plus, hell no.

*ITOFTS = I'm too old for this shiggity...
A good friend of mine from way, way back in the day got divorced this year. I can't say that I was surprised, more incredulous that it had taken her this long to pull the trigger. She was "ride or die" with dude through extremely thick and painfully thin. There were years when she carried the entire emotional, financial and parental weight of the marriage on her own. Years.  And while I understand the concept of staying together for the good of their child, I also know the the little one literally got up and performed a happy dance when she found out they were separating. "We'll be fine on our own. See you next weekend." The eight year old announced to a departing daddy. Welpity welp. She did all but chuck deuces.

I have heard the stories about how he tried to get out of paying child support, tried to get spousal support from my friend, tried to hide his income, tried to claim medical hardship. You name it, he tried it. And still lost in court. The ink is barely dry on those papers but she's free. Fast forward to last weekend...

I was posted up at an Uptown Dallas eatery when Dude (Departed Daddy) strolls in with his boys. Now he and I have never been close. I've been side-eyeing dude from jump but I'm so inherently Southern (that means friendly to a fault) that this dude actually thought I was cheering for him all these years. He thought my friendship with wife spilled over to him. Sir, meet reality check. Reality check, Departed Daddy. You two should sit and get acquainted.

He struts in and gives me a huge hug before starting in with his, "You look well. It's hard out here for the newly-single" rap segueing into "maybe you could give a brother some tips... or a soft landing.... ha, you know how I play... can I buy you another drink?"

NAWL. I told him I was good, wished him well and turned back around to chat with my companions. Departed Daddy did not take the hint AND decided he was being too subtle. He tapped my shoulder, "Hey, I'm trying to ask you out or is that too weird?"

"It's weird, wrong and unwelcome. So... have a great night." Done and done, right? No. Dude takes my stool, turns it towards him and leans in. "C'mon, babe. No one has to know, we can just kick it on the low." Babe? On the low? 1996 called, it wants its corny phrasing back. But anyway... no. And what kind of woman am I supposed to be? So I said. "I'm really not interested." To which he said, "Would you be interested if I wasn't XX's ex-husband?" Me: "Not at all. Plus you are so that's a double down on the Hell leaning heavily into the No." Then I grabbed purse and signaled to pals that we were rolling out.

This Negreaux texted me every hour on the hour ("just think about it" "I'll do right by you" "You're the kind of woman I need in my life") until I figured out how to block his texts and unfriend him on Da Facebook. He's assuming I don't know he's a borderline deadbeat with no bed game and a tendency to not only miss the toilet (with the seat down!!!) but also go MIA when it's time to clean up around the house? He's assuming that he was ever my type to begin with? He's assuming that because I remain unmarried and unattached that I'll jump at the chance for any old thing? I don't know but the whole thing pissed me off royally.

BnB, Where Dey Do Dat At? Where? What kind of man rolls up on one of his brand new ex-wife's oldest friends? And keeps hollering long after "oh-but-hell-no" has been delivered. I guess there are women that would take him up on it. Even if I was tempted (I'm so not), I would never because you know... friendz over menz. Yeah, I just made it up. What's the new saying divas over d!cks? I don't know. I'm not hip.

My question to you is... who does this? And what's the best, break-it-down-so-it-will-forever-be-broke way to make sure he gets that the no is a foreva-eva kind of no? I ask as I see this dude has just inMailed me on the LinkedIn. Jesus be a catchable clue. 

When sweet becomes scary... ITOFTS!

*ITOFTS= I'm too old for this shiggity

My friend Trey, bless his heart, is a serial dater. Usually gets three or four dates in, sleeps with her finds a fatal flaw in the woman and is out.  In his defense some of these women have been um... questionable. (Making one wonder what besides the boo-tay he saw in them from jump? But anyway, moving on...)

The other day he was on third date with a lovely 32-year old professional sister whose company he had enjoyed thus far. They dined at new Mexican spot in Uptown Dallas, walked for drinks at a trendy bistro and settled outside on the patio to enjoy the night.  At some point in the conversation he indicated that he would like to see her again. She smiled and said she would like that.

All good. Random chatter continued. A few minutes later she said she enjoyed spending time with him and hoped that they could continue to get to know each other and grow closer. He thought it was sweet.

Later in the conversation, she told him that in order for them to move forward she was going to need his home phone number (she only had the cell number), the number to a member of his family and his Facebook login information. She also wondered if he would mind if she went through his phone. He laughed nervously, positive that she was joking. She shook her head and told him she was serious and held her hand out for the phone.

"Why do you need that?" he asked.

She proceeded to tell him that she had trust issues and it was usually at this point that men started lying to her. He asked her if she thought that having access to a man's personal information would stop him from lying and she said he would at least hesitate if he knew she might find out the truth. He indicated that he found her line of reasoning skewed and she loudly retorted with some choice expletives. He told her that he was not willing to share all of that and she told him that meant he had something to hide and asked him to take her home.

There endeth the relationship before it got started. 

I was flabbergasted. Am I out of the loop? Are we sharing logins and fam phone numbers with folks? Especially folks we're not sure if we're serious about? Going into a relationship asking to see the cell phone is a bit much, is it not? If someone asked you for your logins and whatnot, what would you do?Someone help me out here... thoughts, comments, insights?

Next up on the ITOFTS Chronicles - Perfection is a problem

*ITOFTS= I'm too old for this shiggity

It was a Thursday night not so long ago. I was tired and cranky but prepared to fake all of the funk because the s/o was coming back from a weeklong trip to Japan. He called from customs and asked if I was cooking. We all know that is code for "can you please cook something for me?" so I shimmied off the dream of sipping wine at the bistro up the street while someone else cooked me something delicious and got to it. 

Now this is important to the story. I cooked. From scratch. Dirty rice. Green Beans Almondine with grilled vidalia onions. Crabcakes and garlic shrimp. From scratch. (I did cheat on the french bread, I'm not Wonder Woman). All of this after an eleven hour day. My hair was did. My clothes were cute and I smiled right pretty when really I just wanted to get under the bed and sleep for a week. Dammit, I'm a good girlfriend. Lock all of that in and let's continue.

He comes over. We chat and tee-hee. I serve food and pour wine, all is wondrous. We're discussing something on the TV and he gets up and helps himself to another serving of dinner. "This is delicious." He announces and I smile. "Did you make everything?" "All except the bread, yes." He nods and continues to eat.

Then he helps himself to more wine and the last crabcake. We are often just silent in each other's company so I don't think anything of it. He sits down and holds my hand and starts drawing patterns on the back of it. Then he puts his arm around me. "It's been a long week." He says. True dat. I nodded.

"Listen..." something in his tone alerts me that whatever comes next is about to suck. So I lean slightly away and wait. "We're not at the same place."

I look around in confusion. What place is that? "I'm sorry?"

"You're perfect and I'm not. If I sat down and wrote a list of the 50 things I want in a woman, you fulfill that list."


"And now that I've found you, I don't know what to do. I need time." {Blogger's note I couldn't put that line a book, my readers would SKEWER me. Let's continue}

"Uhhhh..." was my still dazed and confused comeback.

"I'm not good enough for you. I don't believe what you believe spiritually and you're more sophisticated than I am. I think we should take some steps back and be friends for your own good. And mine." (He had some other mess in here about his thoughts on Jesus that I will spare you all but it was side-eye worthy)

Now my brain starts processing. Did this Negreau just give me a list of reasons he needs to be out? AFTER he ate up the shrimp and crabcakes? Why is he hugging me and holding my hand while telling me he's bailing?

"We could keep going how we're going and get married in a few months but is that what's best in the long run?"

Before I can answer he continues. "I'm not ready for you. Maybe in six months."

The switch flipped. I extracted myself from the grasp. "I don't need twelve reasons why you don't want to be here. We're both adults. Well, one of us. If you want to go, just say it isn't working and go."

"But it is working, I don't want to leave. But I have to. I just need some time. I didn't expect to meet someone like you."

All of the saints in heaven kept me from going full scale Shaquaneisha. Deep breath in, deep breath out. "Okay then." I walked him to the front door, he leaned in for a hug. I gave him a 'don't get cut out here on my front step' look and off he went. To be followed by a volley of emails continuing to try and explain. Exactly one week later I got a text, "I may have been hasty. Let's talk."

A week later he sent a spa gift certificate talmbout - Thought you would like this.

NAWL. I cannot. And I have to tell you guys. I got over the idea of him quicker than I got over the fact that the Negreau ate up the crabcakes and the shrimp BEFORE he gave his speech. Look here, you can get a turkey sammich and kool-aid for that conversation. Even better, there's a Wendy's up the street. Don't have me up in here wasting restaurant quality food and wine and you got some 'you're too perfect for me' mess to say. This man is over 45. Been married before. If he doesn't know his own mind by now, he simply doesn't know. 

Why are you meeting my family and whisking me to theatre, opera, dinner, wine tastings and whatnot when you don't know what you want? I'm damned sure not perfect but if you're saying I'm perfect for you and you can't handle it? Then yeah, you need to go. BEFORE YOU EAT up seafood deliciousness. Woo-sah.

Jayme says I have to get over the crabcakes. Lisa said it was better he told me early before I was more invested. BougieSis says use the spa certificate and keep it pushing - which I did. It was awesome so thanks for that. I don't know what the real reason he bailed was. Not sure he knows. I kinda don't care. To all of this I say - ITOFTS. I really, truly am. Thoughts, comments, insights?

Welcome back to the I.T.O.F.T.S. Chronicles...

*ITOFTS= I'm too old for this shiggity

I agreed to meet with an ex of mine early this morning to review his new employment contract. Since apparently that's what I do now. And because you know, when we were together, I didn't do enough free stuff for him. O__o Yes, I know my snark is showing. Anyway, let's move on.

I post up at the breakfast spot with my fat-free mocha (can I say ick? fake chocolate is worse than no chocolate at all) and glance at my watch. He's late and I have other things to do. You know how you start the countdown in your head? I'll give him five more minutes and then I'm out? Four... three... two.. In he walks. With a young woman on his arm. A petite skinny lil thang with a long blonde weave. It's seven in the morning and girlie has on skintight black jeans, bedazzled tank top and five inch sequined heels. But I'm not judging... much. I sigh and roll my eyes. Because for why bring new chick? But okay, let's just do this.

He walks towards me with his arms outstretched like he expects a hug. I arch one brow towards the heavens and send him the "you have GOT to be kidding me" look. He shakes his head and looks wounded, "We're friends, friends hug." He kisses my cheek and slides into the booth next to me. I shoot him another look and he gets up and slides onto the other side next to New Chick.

"Umm-hmm. Good morning, let me see the paperwork." He slides a wad of folded paper towards me and I start reading.

"Are you NOT going to introduce me?" The girl woman says slapping his arm.

He glances nervously back and forth between the two of us (um, if you thought it would be a problem, why'd you bring her?) and says, "Michele, Tara. Tara, Michele."

I reach across the table to shake her hand and mutter,"Pleased to meet you." She nods and I go back to reading. 

"Do you want breakfast?" He asks and I say no. By this time, I have out the purple pen and I'm marking comments on the pages. I was almost finished when I hear her whispering to him in like the worse whispering voice ever.

"I don't get it, she's not that hot. The way you described her, I thought she'd look like a model or something."

Oh yeah she did. I pretend I didn't hear and finish my last notation on the page. When she does it again.

"And she's kind of old, like she could date my dad!"

I slap the pen down on the table. "How old are you, Tara?"

"I'll be 23 next week." She announced proudly. Bless her heart.

I try and hold in my giggle but I can't. It erupts as a snort. I side-eye the hell out of him and mouth, "16 years younger, really?" Then out loud I say, "I made the changes I think you should fight for in the margins. The other comments are just suggestions. Congrats on the promotion." And then because I couldn't help myself, "And the new boo! She's a jewel."

"She's not my girlfriend, she's just a..."

My eyebrows jump up, how is he about to finish that sentence? Tara's jump up too. "Just a what?"

Purse on arm, keys in hand I slide out of the booth. He looks up at me and sighs, "You're going to blog about this aren't you?"

"Dude be glad I didn't live tweet it with pictures. Ya'll have a great day."

That's how my Wednesday started, BougieLand. Thoughts, comments, insights? 

The I.T.O.F.T.S. Chronicles - for real tho

*ITOFTS= I'm too old for this bullshiggity

I'm old. No, I'm serious. Just walking up the last step to the landing to get to my apartment, I slipped and fell and ended up wrenching all the muscles on the left side of my body plus pissing off my lower back. Yes. That's old when you get injured... walking. :-(

My mother is eighty years old so calling her to help out is what we call counter-productive. Older bro with the ability to medicate me lives 1300 hundred miles away. Older sis who at least would throw pain pills at me from the door is 1200 miles away. BougieYoungerBro has five kids. He ain't got no time to parent me. The long-distance dude is sometimey and by definition - a long distance away. 

The apartment complex (freaked that I'm going to sue) demanded the name of someone to call and babysit me for a day. I was going to call a girlfriend but my cell rang and it was David. He volunteered. Now this is fine. As exes we're fairly cordial. There are about three or four topics that we tiptoe around but for the most part we can be around each other without a lot of drama. And how much drama could one get into when I'm  spaced on muscle relaxants? Had the strangest dream about Prince and Twizzlers in a completely purple forest. Yeah... anyway.

While I was sleeping David takes it upon himself to inform the long-distance dude that he isn't holding up his end and should do better. O__O What transpires at this point is a long-distance pissing match of epic proportions with text, mail and phone flurries. 

People, when I tell you I am too old for this bullshiggity, I absolutely mean it. If I wasn't allergic, I would just get a cat and be done with it. How's that BnB Knitting Circle going?

"For" not "with" - An ITOFTS chronicle

I'll admit I'm not bouncing up and down with enthusiasm about dating again. Hence the I'm Too Old For This Shiggity (ITOFTS) Chronicles. But I'm a trooper, by golly. I keep trying. I keep plugging away. A few weeks ago, I was unloading groceries from my car to the trunk in the parking lot of SuperTarget when my 24-pack of bottled water broke for freedom and bottles flung themselves from the plastic, falling to the asphalt and rolling all over the darn place. 

Amazing how few people actually stop and assist. Even more amazing how people step over your bottles of water and look at you like "wow that sucks" as they keep it moving. One family stopped and the kids thought it was fun to scramble under cars searching for bottles and one guy stopped and helped me secure the rest before they went rolling as well.

I thanked everybody. Got the trunk loaded and noticed that the guy was still standing there smiling. I smiled back while wondering, "What does he want?" He extended his hand, "I'm Ty." I shook his hand, "Michele. Thanks again." I walked around to the driver's door and he was still standing there. I raised a brow. He grinned, "Would you like to get a drink some time?" Oh. Uh. "Sure." He raised his phone, snapped my picture and asked for my number. Alll riighty then. I gave him my Google Voice number. (That one-click "mark as spam" feature is amazing, you also can send certain numbers direct to neverneverland.)

It took a few days for our schedules to mesh but finally we met at trendy lounge on a Thursday night. It was packed. We sat at a tall table with bar stools  After drinks were ordered, we started the initial call-and-response of generic getting to know you questions. I noticed he asked more than he answered and some questions he seemed to deflect. I sipped quicker. So fifteen minutes in I was already two seconds away from an eyeroll, gulp and leave when they started playing music. I don't even remember what the song was but I remember kind of bopping my head and shoulders a little bit.

"Oh, you're a dancer," he said. I laughed, "I do dance but I'm not a dancer." He tilted his head, pointed to a patch of carpet in front of him and said, "Dance for me."

Pardon me? I kind of blinked rapidly and set my drink down positive I misheard him. "With you or for you?"

"For me. I'm wondering what you're willing to do to hold my attention. Get up and show me what you got." 

**crickets** Everyone within hearing distance was like, "What did he just say?"

I said nothing. I pulled out a $10, flung it on the table, tossed my hair back and did a Beyonce stomp towards the parking garage. Ty caught up with me and tapped me on the shoulder, "Did that offend you?"

I walked faster, talking as I went, "Dude - I don't know who you're used to dealing with. You asked me out. I'm not a stripper, I'm not here for your entertainment and I had a father, okay? You've got the wrong one."

Random dude getting out of his car with his boys was like, "Damn, she said she had a daddy, yo."

Ty shrugged, "I'm a commodity. Women want to impress me."

To which I laughed, "Actually I am a commodity. Men try not to insult me. You're free to go. We're done." (I know I was extra ya'll, I was just trying not to go full Shequenesha)

He shrugged again, "I could have five other women here in ten minutes who would dance for me whenever I want."

"Please call any or all of them." I got in my car and drove away. Two minutes later my cell phone announced a call coming in from Google Voice. Do you want to accept this call? No. Do you want to block this caller? Yes. Thank you. 

BougieLand... why? Really. Who the hell (besides Krystal from The House of Cheeks) is getting up booty shaking for random dudes in the martini bar? Who? I'll say it one mo' gin - I'm too old for this shiggity.

No. She. Didn't. A Bougie Bachelor Chronicle

Without further ado - Trey (@AnotherWord43) speaks (with my edits):

I met a young lady through Facebook. She sent me an email saying she read some of my comments here on BnB and thought we "might suit" each other. Was I flattered? Yes. Skeptical? Quite so. How would someone form that judgment based on some of the (admittedly) borderline ratchet things I've said in BougieLand? Then again, I work 90 hour weeks. I travel 75% of the time. My social life is ranked well below sleep, laundry and basic hygiene at this point so if I am to meet anybody right now, chances are it's through a social media outlet.

I decided to find her approach fresh and innovative and I replied back. We went from emails to phone calls and about three weeks later met for coffee. Her pictures did her justice and she lived up to the wit and humor of our conversations. Okay, I thought, this is a definite maybe in the right direction.

The first hiccup happened right around date 5 or 6 when we went to a nice restaurant in Far North Dallas. Not really upscale, just a nice restaurant. It was Houston's for clarification. If any of you have tried to get into a Houston's on a weekend in Dallas even with a reservation, you know the wait is nothing nice. At some point she perceived that we had been passed over for our table. She went up to the hostess and demanded to know why the "white folkz" were seated before us.

She may have had a point and she wasn't loud about it but in my mind, she shifted back towards the maybe not category. Dinner was nice and we had four more dates sans drama. This is why (Chele is giving me the look now) when I had a casual work dinner (where everyone was bringing a plus one) to attend, I asked her to come along. we were a few months in and besides that Houston's moment, I didn't see any major issues. Yes, I had a little pause when I found out the casual dinner was going to be at one of the Sr. VP's houses. It's one thing to bring along someone to a restaurant, it's another to have them in close settings in someone's home. Especially before the relationship is truly defined.

But since I'd already asked and she really hadn't shown any more off-kilter behavior, I decided to take her along. what harm could she do? Really, that was what I thought. Even thought it might be nice to go to one of these things without getting the "when are you getting a ball and chain" joke our CFO like to drop at every occasion. 

The night of the dinner, I picked her up at her front door and she looked great. She had a huge purse and a tote bag. Yes. Here is where I should have asked the question, "What's in the bag, Tamra?" But I didn't. I assumed she was being polite and bringing a hostess gift. 

We got there and everything was fine. There were about ten couples in attendance. We made the kind of not so important conversation you make with people that aren't necessarily friends but co-workers. Our hostess announced that dinner was being served. We made our way to the dining room. They seated us (the only people of color) right in the middle. Someone gave a half-hearted attempt at a prayer and the caterers began to serve the salad. After the salad, they started bringing in plates. This is where we rode off the rails.

Girlie reaches under the table, pulls out a Styrofoam container from her tote and plops it over her china plate. It's barbecue ribs and brisket. She pulls out her purse and gets a roll and a small container of potato salad. She then turns to one of the waiters and asks for... wait for it... hot sauce. You know the saying about hearing a pin drop? Well we heard the flea sitting on top of the pin say, "Welp" as the pin dropped. 

I leaned over and whispered, "What are you doing?" She replied, "I don't know what they eat, I brought my own." I translated for the stunned table, "Tamra has some food allergies so she tends to be extra careful." I MIGHT have gotten away with it if the caterer wasn't serving smoked pork loin with a potato salad. AND if she hadn't next said in a not so quiet voice, "Sorry, I don't trust white folk food."

I just closed my eyes and prayed for instant teleportation to a galaxy far, far away. What to do? Stay and brazen it out? I thought about it but what if she said something WORSE than she already had? I couldn't take the chance. I stood up and yanked her up by the arm - "Tamra isn't feeling well, I'm sure you understand" and started moving her towards the front door. She's protesting, "Let me just grab my plate" and I'm losing it, under my breath, "If you don't bring yo ass on!" 

Drove her back to her house in silence. Silence after she glanced at me and said, "You mad, huh?" Pulled up to her door, put my foot on the brake and unlocked the doors. "Guess you're not coming in?" Silence. "Guess I won't be seeing you again?" Silence. "You kinda buppified anyway." She got out and slammed the door. I drove back to my senior VP's house and had dinner. I had to. It was the only way to save face. They thought it was hilarious. I still do not. I will say this though: Yes, Chele. I too am too old for this ish.

BougieLand, what say you to Trey's tale of when keeping it real goes wrong? have you ever had a date cut a fool at a corporate function? How much do we hate those corporate functions anyway? Thoughts  comments  commiseration? do discuss...