TEATIME TUESDAYS

"What you talkin' bout Willis?" I'm so glad you asked. I use to think that my feelings betrayed me. I use to think when I needed them to be contained, they spewed out like hot lava, when a volcano erupts. After I pulled a scene and calmed down, no matter how much I apologised, that image of me acting the fool was etched in the mind of that individual. I'm sure someone out there has updated my name to 'skitzo' in their contact list. On the heels of the Easter season, I think it's safe to say many people feel someone kind of way about Judas. Jesus didn't. He understood Judas was part of the big picture. Now that's not a hall pass for you to act the fool for no reason.

I know people of my pigmentation and churchgoers alike, may never agree, but hear me when I say this, "Therapy is NOT only for the person that just flew over the cuckoo's nest!" Okay, let's level--if you have a heart condition, you’d fly your tail to a cardiologist simply because he specializes in that, right? Well jumpin' Jehoshaphat, why won't you go to see someone that specializes in helping you fix your broken emotions? No, you'd rather be out here spewing toxic juice on people, like being slimed on Nickelodeon’s Double Dare! This is not rocket science people-Go. Fix. Your. Emotions. Until then, you need to quarantine yourself as if you've just contracted COVID-19.

Can somebody, anybody, please tell me how to play the hand you're dealt, in the relationship game of life? I can't even count the number of incidences that had me on the perpetual date, break-up, and make-up merry-go-round. I nearly pulled every strand of hair from my head, and if you know me that's already very little hair. Ultimately, all I wanted to do was look up to the sky and scream, "God, that's enough already!" What kind of luck could I have possibly had to keep repeating the same relationship disasters for the last 20-years? I suppose the answer to all these questions can be summed up to a condition I like to call CSI (Children of Israel Syndrome). Yes sir, round that same mountain, like the earth rotating around the sun. All while happily singing the Micky D's theme song, "Bah dah dah dah da, I'm lovin' it!" Sidebar: In case you think that God has you on some lifetime, naughty list, no friend, it's you (just like me) that's stuck on the slow-bus, taking forever to catch the hint.

So, rumour had it that Idris told R n' B Singer K. Michelle, he could never be committed to just one woman. Then low and behold, People's Magazine 2018's Sexist Man Alive turned around and not only committed to a different woman but even gave that sista his last name. He met his now-wife in 2017, was engaged to her by 2018 and sealed the deal in 2019.  I'll tell you (and as bad as it may sound) it was a smidgen comforting to know situations like this don't just happen to us, regular people. Yes. I said it. Sorry, not sorry! In my book, what Idris was really saying is, "No K, I'm just not moved to commit to you!"

If you're reading this article in search of the answer to this question, sorry, you won't find it here. I'm single, what the heck do I know? Like you, this sister has more questions than answers. An inquiring mind wants to know what exactly is 'irreconcilable differences' and is there such a thing as 'me time' in marriage? Better yet, how much of homeslice's annoying habits does a wife endure (like if mister forgets to put down the seat) before she spazzes out and vice-versa?  But more importantly, who is responsible for bringing home the bacon and is the person who brings it, exempt from cooking it? I suppose it depends on who you ask, just what kind of answers you'll get to any of these questions. What I do know is, from my little tuffet, couples seem to be getting divorced quicker than Popeyes sold-out of the spicy chicken sandwich!  

By definition, an 'edge' is considered the outside limit of an object or area.  It's the place furthest from the center, that provides a border. I suppose if we translate that into relationship terminology, we can refer to 'edges' as boundaries. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm the girl that has to learn everything the hard way. I was that kid who you'd tell the stove is hot and I'd just have to touch it to see if it was as hot as you said it is.  Yes, I'm that girl and I don't want you to be like me.  I want you to learn from my dumbness. One boundary that I kept moving further and further back-is tolerance. The outline that dictates what I should and should not accept.  One thing is for sure, the saying holds true, what you allow is what will continue.

When I was growing up, we girls prided ourselves on being sugar and spice and everything nice. While little boys were said to be made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails.  Yet while as kids, we said 'yuck' to the thought of the opposite sex, as adults, it's all we seem to crave. Though boys pulling a girl's pigtails was regarded as a sign of affection, it has morphed into something a lot less desirable-like catcalling.  Still, we've just grown into women hoping and wishing that the popular boy teases us so we'd at least feel relevant. I tell you, it's hard for a single chick in these pews!

As the offering pan passed me and I observed what we call 'gift-giving', I smiled to myself, though I'm not sure for a good reason. I realized that sometimes 'we' can be just like that pan. Being passed from hand to hand, but not everyone, we make contact with deposits or leaves something tangible. Several thoughts raced through my mind. Chief among them was how I could begin to limit 'what' goes in and 'who' gives into my symbolic pan. Women are known as 'receivers', and what we are given is often multiplied. I'm learning more each day that that can be positive or negative.

We have at one time, or the other heard someone say, "I don't give two hoots what you say about me!" When I hear that, I automatically want to say, "Ah, stop lying!" Then again, I suppose it won't be fair that I think the statement is untrue for the person saying it.  All I know is this, that statement is not the case for everyone. Even when 'they' say it is. Deep down inside, we often care a little more than we'd like to admit. 

"You wait til' I get to heaven, I ga' tell Eve bout her........!" Hey, you! Pique down, missy! Can we please, for the love of God, let Eve rest in peace already? From the time I could tie my shoes, poor Eve has been dragged through the mud for eating the apple or whatever it was that she ate in the garden. Since before humans discovered fire, my girl has been catching flack for everything from P.M.S. to chapter 7 bankruptcy. At this point, I just want to resurrect Johnny Cochran to get the indicted Eve off the hook. I mean, if he could do it for OJ........well then.