Crossing Over

I won't soon forget the clown who asked me out on a date early in the summer, then disappeared into thin air.

I suppose his Facebook status about how much he hates natural hair should've clued me in as to his whereabouts. Then again, you'd imagine all my kinky-haired photos would have been a big, bright, flashing stop sign for him as well.

While the brothas are turning their noses up at our afros and twists, other people are leading the conversation with, "I love your hair!"

And while some of you bums think the correct way to approach a woman is via text message asking if you can come over -- or better yet, directing her to come over -- someone shook my hand in Starbucks, asked my name and invited me to go surfing,

Yes, surfing. If I knew how to swim, I would've hopped in the the truck and rode out.

I guess it will ultimately work itself out. Y'all keep choosing the Barbies and Kardashians...and we'll go hang with the Robert DeNiros and Robin Thickes.

:o)