*Writer’s Note: I didn’t feel like being extra like the first post with the script-writing and confessionals. Y’all gon’ read these words just fine and live.*
I joked with my best friend about possibly falling in love with a shorter man.
I couldn’t tell how tall he was but from his photos he seemed short and stocky. I like husky men with broad shoulders and arms so I was pleased with what I saw but most importantly, I liked the way we conversed. Not to distract you from the topic at hand but it has always been converse and not ‘conversate’. Anyway…
Usually I friend men on Facebook who I find attractive, if they’re strangers, because who wants to scroll down a timeline full of selfies from tree monsters? My timeline is shallow AF. He caught my eye and after scrolling through three pictures I hit that good ol’ “add friend” button. The next day he slid in my inbox. The turn-around for inbox slidery is around 2-4 days so he set a record. What caught my attention was his ability to have a conversation. Not only did he know how to spell and formulate a proper sentence with correct punctuation (why is this a ‘thing’ though), he was a wordsmith who was hella witty and funny. I found myself sharing one of his jokes with my bestie because it had me in shambles at my desk during the workday.
I didn’t expect anything to come about. Fast-forward three weeks later and he showed up at a gig to meet in-person for the first time. While my bestie ducked in the bushes behind us, mouthing to me if that was “shorty” with the confused face, I was more astonished because he was taller than me. Not by a huge margin but if you get a good inch in there, you’ve won, beloved.
As the weeks went by, either I had a growth spurt or he started to shrink. I’m not saying that metaphorically, right now, but that will come shortly (oooh a pun). He even mentioned it after one of our intimate sessions that he hadn’t noticed how tall I was.
After seeing how his social media presence turned him into a short ass Mr. Hyde (there’s your metaphor, kinda) versus the sweet Dr. Jekyll who was handing out promising prescriptions of admiration, homeboy was ’bout as tall as my kneecaps.
I’m a slim goody and have always been. My curves are concealed for the bedroom. They come out to play when the right kind of dress hugs them but I’m in no way “bootylicious”, bodacious or my personal favorite, “thick”. I’m a skinny minnie and I’m okay with that. What you not gon’ do, though, is constantly praise thick women on your Instagram page and think I’m not going to challenge that.
I’m wrong to question what it is about me that keeps you warm when you’re telling the world you’re still searching for and/or would prefer someone with more cushion than I? Y’all…he actually used the hashtag #TheSearchContinues…then why the fuck you here, bro?
Albeit, a bish was being sensitive and in her feelings over social media posts that were probably for likes, shits & giggles. My boy said he was moving like a majority of insecure kneegrows who find their value in fuqqboyish behavior on the interwebs. Although I can agree with that point, I don’t understand it because I don’t do shit for likes. More than anything, I like to troll and ruffle feathers on social media. However, I was proud of myself for addressing something that was bothering me because I usually observe and suffer in silence. That day was super-charged with “I’m With The Shits!” and I wish I could bottle it up and sell it.
We were just dating but barely. That was the real issue because his actions were not lining up with his words, so the social media posts were the sprinkles on top of the whip cream and cherry. I should’ve moved on my gut a lot sooner bust instead I was having a trivial ass conversation in the DM…where it goes down, apparently.
It’s all good though, love. I like wearing heels and you’d be in your feelings too much if were dressed for a function. All of our photos would be sitting down.
Bad optics, so I’m good luv, enjoy.