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P1

 

There’s this guy at Purdue (that I┬ámentioned earlier), to whom I’ve been talking for the past few months. I’ll call him P, not because any of you care, but because, let’s face it, I’m real lazy at this point in the day (4:46 a.m., Chicago time).

P, as I said, is a Mechanical Engineering Technology major at Purdue. Sounds like hot stuff, doesn’t he? But before you go off to barf at the thought of your favorite almost-grown woman going down in flames for liking a Tech geek, let me assure you, he is not. He’s really just a brotha out to get paid. I can definitely feel that, even though a sista is majoring in the liberal arts. We are all on a paper chase, one way or another. But that’s getting off track.

P is a genuine guy, a real nice Midwest born and bred sweetheart. Of course, me being skeptical me, I didn’t take him at face value… I figured the guy was full of crap and not worth my time, but guess what? He has a great sense of humor, a nice accent (Midwest “twang”, not Nelly-ish, but cute all the same), a handsome face, and… hold on to your seats, my ambitious female headhunters… he has a job. Hallelujah (never did learn how to spell that quite right)!

Oh, dear hearts, don’t think of me as any of those nasty labels that are floating through your minds… Golddigger, Freeloader, Hoochie… it’s not like that at all. I don’t have a problem with working myself, I don’t have a problem with a guy living at home with his mother until he is out of college and on his feet. But I do have a problem with guys who want to call themselves grown men who sit in their mothers’ basements watching MTV while drinking a six pack, sucking up yo mamas free air, yelling up the stairs, “What’s for dinner?”, and generally rotting away. Get a J-O-B! It’s not hard. I can work with a McDonald’s brotha, just make an effort. But my boy, P, he makes a good deal more money than a McDonald’s employee.

And it gets better. He calls when he says he’ll call, he’s honest, he’s not a hothead (like someone who shall remain anonymous until further entries), and he even goes to church. Amen! All the boy’s missing is the decorative ribbon. He’s so perfect he’s almost gay ladies! But, he’s a straight arrow, and I plan to be the bull’s eye. Because behind every Great Woman is a Great Man’s Wallet. (J/K. Let me try that again) Because beside every Great Woman, is a Great Man, a man who is provider, protector, friend, family, lover, colleague, counselor, and uplifter. And it’s that Great Woman’s job to love, honor, help, and uplift that man. Call me what you will, but you’ll be calling me in my mansion with my crazy-paid husband, a few servants, and a dog.

“You have reached the answering service of the P family. We’re too busy spending more than you make in a year to answer the phone. Leave a message and a servant will get back to you. Thanx.” (“Oh, if you insist on a foot rub, who am I to argue?”) Peace, love and hair grease, y’all. Reader the footer ~1~

Stay tuned for another misadventure of this almost grown woman…until the next time, keep it true, no matter how many feelings truth hurts!