He says, “If only you were here.”

I respond, “if only you would ask.”

Because see, I no longer play the game of asking for something without really asking. If you want something, be direct. Be clear. Use your words. After all, we’re all grown here.

Strike one.

So your love language is “Acts of Service”, meaning that helpful acts like cooking a meal, setting a table, washing dishes, vacuuming, taking out the garbage, mowing the grass, etc. all represent powerful expressions of love and devotion to you. And based on what you’ve told me, you like that shit.

So before coming over, I ask you if there’s anything that I should bring. You can’t think of anything immediately, then minutes later you request salsa.

I’m not sure if you really want salsa, or you want to take advantage of the act of service. Regardless,  I’m a down *bleep* chick, so prior to coming I make my way to the store. Salsa. Check. A lime Perrier for me, a lime Perrier for you. Check. Check. Because not to mention, I asked you if you have water and you nonchalantly laughed and said no. With zero intention of going to grab any for your guest. Cool.

Strike two.

I arrive to your spot. You give me a hug at the door. But soon I realize that all you have to offer is a warm body. I’m ready to leave just as quick as I came. I unload my bag of goodies onto your table, you don’t acknowledge the fact that I went to the store, nor do you make the effort to engage me on a human to human or male to female interaction.

You walk away, and plop on the couch. As if you’ve been comfortable all day and me being here is totally normal.

It’s not.

Let me preface this by saying this is our third time hanging out and I’ve never been to your place. At the bare minimum, I expect to receive some warm hospitality. You are from the south, right? Forgive me for having expectations, I just know how I was raised. When a guest comes to my home, please believe the mood will be proper and I’ll go as far as making a store run to make sure you’re happy and comfortable.

My mind begins racing.. and quite frankly I’m planning an escape route in my head. I’m thinking to myself, this is crazy. This man really just greeted me, and goes right off to his comfy couch. I’m tripping. At this point I need someone to remind me why I’m here.

“How was your day?”, I ask. Because honestly, to me it’s important to level set the dynamic and know what kind of energy I’m walking into. Are you in a good mood, bad mood, sad mood? Shit, let me know. Because some situations, I prefer to avoid. You respond good.


I walk over to the couch and figure out how to make myself comfortable, since apparently this is what we’re doing. Netflixing and chilling.

Conversation is bleek. We’re watching the show “Ballers” and he tells me that he will NEVER see a million dollars, with all of his checks combined. That fucked my mind, and not in a good way. His flaws begin adding up pretty quickly…

Strike three.

I wasn’t offered any salsa. Anything to drink. Wasn’t shown where the bathroom is. Wasn’t asked about my week. Nothing. 35 minutes in and I see who you really are. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about support and inspiring. But I’m not in the business of building a man, nor working off of potential.

“I exclaim, I’m hungry. Did you eat?” He says “yes” and nods at me with a child-like smile and goes on to tell me that he ate a couple of sandwiches. *side eye*

My apologies, that was a test. Because I knew that a nigga who wasn’t offering water, or a shared bowl of salsa and chips was for damn sure not going to offer me food I got it! That was my escape! It was only right for me to have a reason to leave his place so early. I’ve never visited a man’s home, with the intent on chilling and leaving 35 minutes in. So I felt sort of guilty.

I tell him, “I’m about to get out of here. I need food.”

Case closed. He got up, walked me to the door. I told him he didn’t have to. I left with a sense of accomplishment for not wasting more than 35 minutes of my time. But needless to say, I was also a bit disappointed…

Is this what dating in 2017 looks like? Lack of couth- /ko͞oTH/ defined: cultured, refined, and well mannered.

You’re probably thinking to yourself. Sheesh, Brittney that’s kind of harsh and what could he have done differently?
I can answer that question…

It wasn’t about the salsa, the water, the million dollar statement. It was about the mindset, the small thinking and the lack of ambition, . I could tell that this man was comfortable. He would drain me until the well runs dry. He was a receiver and not a giver. He wasn’t someone I could see myself building with as a friend of even a romantic partner, so why waste precious time that can be spent on something meaningful? Hell, good sex would’ve been more meaningful than Netflixing and chilling with a small minded person. But at least I’d be getting something out of it.

He couldn’t have done anything differently, he showed me who he was and it was up to me to believe him.