Some guys aren’t that much into “sharing”. You might have met them online, but slowly you’ll come to realize that more than likely, those posts you liked so much were uploaded by someone else. He knows how to use the messenger app well enough, but everybody knows how to text. It’s not rocket science. But you won’t know just how ignorant he is of technology till you hear him say, “OH! NO FILTER! That’s what the hashtag means!” Like really?
2. You’ll have random staring contests
If it’s anything we do when we’re not verbally communicating, it’s waking up to or turning to each other and just… staring. Usually it lasts until we laugh out loud or one of us asks the other if them a’right cuz we kinda creeped out.
3. The living is easy.
Literally. If you know each other inside out, then the fact that you’re a neat freak and him just cah see the sense in keeping things tidy, compromise will almost be automatic. The decision to live with someone comes with acceptance. If yuh cah accept seeing his stuff all over the place, and if he cah accept you constantly putting things away… what are you doing?
Compromise is him putting things in their designated areas and you showing that you can be messy too. Just don’t get nasty wid it. Please.
Catcalling nowadays tek on a new form. Now it’s not always, “Psst, hi baby. Mi like yuh enuh.” Instead it’s more like “Good afternoon,” and not in a polite manner either. Rather it’s in an aggressive tone, usually accompanied by a disgruntled facial expression, arms tightly folded across the chest and a wide-legged stance to remind you who’s boss. More often than not, it’s spat at you after he deliberately and abruptly cuts off the conversation that was ongoing prior to your arrival. This stern “Good afternoon” says,
“But wait, this bitch bright eeh? Who tell her fi just walk past me after she see me standing here minding my own business and having a conversation that has nothing to do with her, with someone who is equally a stranger to her?”
It asks of us women, how dare we disrespect the presence of any (and, apparently, EVERY) man in the universe by not tapping him on the shoulder and saying, “Excuse me Mr Fine Creation of God, I just had to let you know I acknowledge you” ?
Really men? Are your balls so tightly in a knot and squeezing the daylights outta you that your ego needs that much rubbing?
And when it’s not “Good afternoon,” it’s the good ole belittling of women that follows our refusal to acknowledge the measly attempt at getting us to look at these sorry excuses for real men. Like last week when I was on my way to get a taxi home, a random man shouts outta the blue (to God knows who, because there were, how many women passing by?), “Hey pretty girl, how yuh do?!” And seconds later I hear, right behind my left ear,
“Hey dutty stinking shithouse, a you mi a talk to! Gwan like yuh betta dan man cuz yuh inna big bank unifaam! Yuh ugly nuh rass!”
And responses like these are usually spurred by the feeling of being unaccomplished in life. Who is a woman? Just because she has a job (especially if it’s a good one) and a certain man is jobless, or earning less than the minimum wage, doesn’t mean she’s better than him. All she have is front. He’s a man. Nuff odda front out deh fi him get.
And this is where I can’t understand why any man can be so shallow as to think that every woman is literally a walking desire for the penis or approval from the holder of one. Then again, maybe men should just stick to being holders of their penises and get the memo already.
As for me, I’m not responding to any “Good afternoon” that comes from a stranger just because I’m apparently worthy enough to receive the unwanted gift of his attention. How about you, men, start showing this interesting form of respect to your own kind for a change and see where it gets you?
Title ketch yuh yeye don’t it? It caught mine too, and before even opening the article, I thought how guilty I am of the very same thing. But it takes time and experience to grow. And we’re allll guilty of number 3! Men, you are too, don’t think yuh get weh.
You can read the rest by Shonda White (no coincidence that she’s my namesake), here: