How do you like them apples?
When it comes to direct hits, men of color have always been first responders to my looks. My almost blue-white creamy skin could guide planes in at LAX. The hair isn’t blond, which is a rarity in this town. The whole package is not what men are used to seeing, so they react.
Latin men love the Marnasita. Middle-eastern and Indian men enjoy my WASPy superwhiteness. Jews have always chased me because I am the shiksa from hell – the opposite of what their mother wants them to have. And black men. Well, they are the original admirers of The Marn.
This morning, I dropped my stash of NetFlix at the post office. As I was walking back around to my car, a 50-something black man with a jeweled fez pillbox hat looked me up and down 2.5 times and then smiled at me and said, “Mmmmm, mmmmm. Yes, I like everything big. Good morning to you.”
I smiled and said thank you but had to chuckle because the man spoke to me with a very Kentucky Fried Chicken finger-licking-good voice. But, at least he knows what he likes.
This was a nice Monday morning reminder to me to continue to be a tenacious communicator and to be exceptionally expressive. In a town where men want to be chased and won’t look you in the eyes, I’m going to continue to walk the talk, balls out swinging. I know what I like too.