I went on a date this week. Don’t get excited for me yet. I’ll let you know when to get your hopes up. All of you are rooting for me to get boo’d up right? Oh y’all don’t care? Yeah me either. Totally doesn’t matter. I am woman, hear me roar and alldat. Anyway, I’ve been out with this particular guy several times. He knows me relatively well, and he likes to comment on what I wear. I think he thinks I dress like a Sunday school teacher. I can’t really argue with the man. On most days, I’m a real jazzy nun. Covered and cute. When I’m trying to be grown, I might give y’all these shoulders or let these thighs breathe. I’m nobody’s fashionista though and I especially do not like tight clothes. I’m just regular (see my post about that here). I like clothes that fit this body. I need all my shirts to easily find their way down past the front and the back of my midsection. There are a lot of things happening on my stomach and my back and I don’t need y’all to be intimately familiar with those things. I need all my pants to respect the air traveling to my lungs. If the pants restrict that air in any serious way, I can no longer eff with the pants. I cannot.
So when I wear something a little snug, this particular guy LOVES to say silly things. He’ll be like “Look at you! Turn around, let me see. Why you acting shy????” Sir, because I am not necessarily on display right now. Do I want you to look? Of course. I wouldn’t have subjected myself to a constant holding it in of any kind if I didn’t want you to notice. But then when I don’t want to do a full out Naomi Campbell catwalk in whatever restaurant we happen to be dining in so that he can be entertained, this guy will be like “You know, some girls are fine because they think they’re so fine. Confidence goes a long way.”
Bruh. You don’t think I know I’m fine right now?
I actually think I’m beautiful. Been knew I was cute. Puh! What you mean? I’m everything. I mean obviously not all the time. Like seriously not all the time. But when I get myself together, I’m cuuuute. And not just cute. I’m smart and when I don’t know a lot about something, I’m a quick study. I have a great memory for names and faces. I’m very organized. I’m kind. I’m transparent and honest. I have a knack for words. I’m funny in the right circumstances. I can dance. I’m passionate but almost never argumentative. I’m great at forgiving and moving forward in love. I can do my own hair. I can almost do a backbend. I have nice feet. Your mama loves me. Whatchu mean I need confidence? Ego real big over here, my dude.
My confidence is not lacking. You understand? I’m good on that. The thing is I know I’m also a mess! That’s where that ego meets an immense amount of humility. I know I need a whole Iyanla Fix My Life episode, so it’s hard to accept compliments or toot my own horn. I even had to go back and edit that list I just made to take out the qualifiers I usually use when referring to myself. Like, I know I don’t clean my tub as often as I should. How can I let someone tell me I’m fine when I know my dang tub is dirty right at this very moment? My hair is jacked up and dry about 45% of the time. My toes need to be painted. I’m not a details person. I don’t call my friends or family enough. I’m horrible at math and don’t understand science. I literally don’t get it. My faith waivers. I don’t have enough patience. I’m bad at delegating, which probably means I need to work on trusting people or something else deep. I’m not disciplined enough. I procrastinate. I can’t do make up. My skin is dry right now as I type. Where my coconut oil?
That’s why I’m regular. Because for every awesome thing about me I probably have an equally unawesome trait. Like I said in the previous post, “folks out here looking for something real fancy when regular is the move.”
Just know I think I’m great. I also think I need to paint my raggedy toes. It’s levels to this.