Dont Mince Words

Steve Martin/King Tut

“Girl, look at that red hair and that gray stripe. Wow. And those toes. Yeah. I’d like to suck on those. You taken? Cause I’d like to take you?” said the black guy in front of me at 7-11. Hard to believe just 20 minutes prior, I was playing Super Mario Cart with a 7-year-old who just wanted to beat me… and did.

I was 11 years old when I found out I was black man catnip. My mother, brother, and I were in a very, very long line to see the King Tut exhibit at the National Gallery. Waiting was boring, so I asked my mother if I could duck into the wing next to us and look around. She let me go by myself. As I walked around, I noticed the black security guard following me. When I dead ended and turned back around to rejoin my family, he was in front of me. He looked at me up and down. I didn’t understand why since I wasn’t in People’s Drug trying to steal candy. He then told me he liked my “chest.” I was 5’6” and a C-cup at the time, but I was still 11 fucking years old. I got the yucky, this-doesn’t-feel-right feeling and ran out of the wing.

Since that time I have dated several intelligent and handsome black guys. Their game was more evolved than commenting on my hair, boobs, or feet. Today’s guy gave me the creeps, and not because he was buying a 12-pack of Miller High Life at 10 a.m. His tone and delivery made me flashback to an experience I had forgotten about and never told anyone about.

If you want to take me on a Sunday, quote Steve Martin and buy champagne.

Libby Hill Sledding Party

I like Fall. I like rain. I don’t mind one minor (< six inches) snowstorm a year. When blizzard conditions were forecasted for my birthday weekend, it was just another excuse to stock up. My southern California dog and I were ready.

Blizzards aren’t new to me. I was born during one. However, my snow skills are rusty since moving back to Virginia. I knew I needed alcohol and coffee. My neighbors told me I was on a good grid and it was unlikely my power would go out. I made soup and waited.

In the end, I was reminded why I love city living. It all goes back to that walk score. While my bless-their-hearts suburban friends were stuck in their cul-de-sacs, I was walking to restaurants, bakeries, and coffee shops. My neighborhood was drunk. Seriously drunk and happy. We had a good weekend and got more FitBit miles in than most.

Now the thaw is on and hopefully all will be back to normal in time for the recycle truck to come and dump our heaving bins…. until the next storm…or birthday.

The question of children has come up a couple times in the last week.  I’ve been internet dating for almost 20 years. Finding a partner is hard enough; however, add offspring into the mix?  Kids are a huge responsibility and I like being carefree and, ah, irresponsible.

An unmarried friend from college in his 50’s asked me over lunch if I had any regret not having children.  He is still contemplating kids while dating a younger woman.  Without hesitation I replied, “No. When my girlfriends with kids envy my lifestyle, I know I made the right decision.”

Several days later a girlfriend and I were leaving a restaurant and two 50-something men at the bar stopped us to chat.  After names were exchanged, the next question from the panty-melting accented Irishman was “Do you have kids?”  I responded, “No, I have a 70 pound dog instead.”  He smiled and said I was very lucky.

I was sure I wasn’t ready to have kids in my 20’s.  My 30’s were consumed with my career.  Now I’m career-worn and older and happy with my decision to be Cool Aunt Marna and Miss Marna to my friends’ kids.  They all think I’m funny and as my nephew said “Aunt Marna isn’t like a normal adult is she?”

No, I’m childless by choice.  No regrets and a lot of fun along the way.

SAM TEXTS DRUNK BUT COOL AUNT MARNA