Mr Racist

Mr Racist

Ahhh, there is something special in the smell of a southern summer. The magnolias that line our shaded streets. The honeysuckle that embraces your every step. The home made Iced Tea that quenches your thirst and your soul. And that final smell. It’s all too familiar aroma is in the air even to this day, racism. Now, like boiled peanuts, you can’t find it everywhere, but it’s there. And like boiled peanuts, you probably know someone who is all about it.

If there were ever a post where I would love to reveal the true identity of the person whom the post was about, it would be this one. Not to be mean, or vindictive, but in the hopes that he could learn from his actions. Oh screw it. I want my cousins Pookie and Ray Ray to beat his ass. But that is not the woman my Nana raised, and so, I will simply call him, Mr Racist.

Mr Racist and I met through mutual friends. I have to admit, he was so my type. Funny, attractive, a cross between Paul Rudd and David Schwimmer, walked into a room and good times were always had, successful, focused and a great kisser. (This is where the compliments stop). Like many before him, things started as a random hook up. And I was kinda fine with that. But then it turns out, he was actually pretty good. (Ok, no more compliments after this.) So we hooked up a few more times. And he totally had me, when the second time we got together he offered to make me dinner, and actually did.

Now for me, I was fine with our arrangement. It was nothing serious, very casual, no weirdness out in public, to be honest, it was kinda fun. It was also great to know that people would have been completely shocked if they knew we slept together, and I enjoyed that fact. This went on for about a month, and again I say, I was fine with this. But then the turn happened. How men can ruin a perfectly good arrangement like this, I will never know. But he ruined it.

Now fellas, we have heard many lines to get us out of your bed and to stop the “relationship”.

  • “Let’s be friends”
  • “I’m not looking for something serious right now”
  • “I have a lot on my plate”
  • “The timing just is not right”
  • And the classic “It’s not you, it’s me”
All of these work in almost any situation, and if that was what Mr Racist was going for to end our little bedroom antics, any of these lines would have worked just fine. However, he did something so unexpected, so off the wall, so totally low, that there really is no words…well, now there’s this blog. 
One night, after a quite enjoyable session, while still wrapped up in my sheet, laying on his bed and the sweat not yet dry, he looks over at me with some hesitation. They say timing is everything, and I was about to witness that his sucks. He proceeds, “Desiree, you’re such a cool girl”, this start is never good and NEVER ends well. So I prepared myself for the “but” and mentally got my clothes ready for the drive back to my apartment. He continues, “We’ve been having fun and all, but I just don’t think my friends would think to highly of me dating a black girl.”
Ok, if you know me well enough, you know that I was conflicted on what to do next. On one side, the ghetto in me, be it small, was thinking “I know this cracker didn’t and I am about to whoop his ass!”. But then there is the sweet, more rational side, and that is what he got. All I could say as a I barely looked at him was “Really?”. He tried to explain and to be honest, I don’t remember much of what he said. I was hurt, insulted, upset, humiliated and just plain ole pissed. I picked up my clothes and got dressed, he was still talking and I was still walking. 
We saw each other a few times around town after that. I was always cordial and polite, just like my Nana would have wanted. But secretly I wished I had done more. I wished I could have made him wear a sign that says “I love fried chicken, but not screwin it”, or maybe something more clever. I wanted people to know what a jerk he was. I am not really sure if he said what he said to get me to leave, or if he truly felt that way, in any event, he was wrong. It’s my wish that he has learned something from this. Maybe he might have even fell in love and married a black woman. That, or I hope he got his car stolen on MLK Blvd. in Atlanta. 
Either way, Kharma is truly a bitch, and her name is Sho’Nequa.