There is very little any given nigga can do for me. That’s why I find it so hard to date. I can’t quite grasp their purpose in my life. It takes time for a man to show you why you need him around. & even more than him showing you, it’s him understanding his role in the entire process of your life. 

        I got up late this morning. I’m supposed to be at work for 9:30am but I typically come in anywhere between 9:45 and 10:15. Not because I think I’m a boss, but because I am one. No matter how hard I try to get up, I can’t make it out of bed before 8am. I rarely make it out of the house before 9. When I have company, though… the morning gets even more strenuous as I try to find my way around someone else –making them comfortable while I handle my business. In account of time, I skip breakfast. I don’t have time to sit and eat so I rush out and enjoy the box of cereal I have stashed at my desk. “You’re making me breakfast,” he’d told me. I laughed in return and sucked my teeth in anticipation of what would come next. “I ain’t doing shit,” I told him. “Well see,” he responded. 

          I’m not good at taking orders. I had every intention of giving him a big “fuck you” before I got in the shower the next morning, but the real “fuck you” came that same night… and so did I. So this morning, with about 40 minutes to shower, get dressed, do my make-up and fix my hair… I found myself in the kitchen beating eggs. This isn’t the first time. I’ve made him breakfast everyday since… Saturday? And I don’t eat, either. Eggs. Turkey bacon. Wheat toast. He liked the salami and spinach in the eggs. Broccoli & salami in the eggs got me a high-five, once. “Babe,” he said to catch my attention. “Them eggs this morning? CRACK,” he said with his hand up. “Thanks,” I said with a smile & met him half-way. That’s my boo, yo. I even make sure it’s 100% juice for him. To be honest, Katelynn taught me. She’s only… 17? I remember being on the phone with her and we talked about how busy her day was. She’d get up, make her man breakfast, iron his clothes, do whatever it is you do for a baby in the morning and then go to school before working in the evening. She wasn’t complaining, though. She was just telling me how her day was. I couldn’t quite grasp how she did it. When she first told me, I assumed she did it because she was playing the role. That’s what a woman is supposed to do. That’s how a man should be treated. Yet, since I’ve been spending my mornings in the kitchen, my perspective has changed. 

    There’s a difference between wanting to do something to make yourself feel good, and being concerned for the other person’s welfare. Sincerely. “I told you Im trying to get my weight up. I don’t even eat breakfast. But since you doing it…” he explained. Now, you and I both know this is some shit. He wants me  to make him breakfast for his own personal reasons that have nothing to do with me except for the simple fact that I have the ability to make breakfast. I typically hate niggas like this. Niggas who simply want you to be their woman… but why? Why can’t he want some breakfast? I considered it this morning when I whispered a low “babe” to wake him up because he trips when I poke him (it’s funny as fuck when I do, though, lmfao). I was going to tell him breakfast was off. I lied… I was going to ask him if it was okay. We’d had a long…. long… long night. But I had changed my mind. I couldn’t think of him going about his day hungry. Or having to find someone else to care for him –whether it be the cashier at McDonald’s or not. “Don’t worry about it, babe,” he  mouthed from the bathroom, but I was already making moves. The turkey bacon was in the skillet, broccoli boiling and eggs on standby. His juice was already poured. I wanted to. Not to mention, I’ve spoken to you all before on playing a role before it gets to you, so that way, when the time comes, you’re ready. I mean… what if? What if we make those moves? What if, one day, I had a child? Who’s going to get up and make breakfast then? Who’s going to feed my babies? Who’s going to care for them? Really… there shouldn’t be a question. If there’s something that he needs, that I can provide, I should give it to him. Shouldn’t I? If he has an ailment, that I can help soothe, I should do what I can. Shouldn’t I? 

        I hate anything that hurts him. Anything that stresses him. That bothers him. Irritates him. Last night, he sat at the edge of the bed, between my legs, listening to Jadakiss and drinking wine.  He’s got one small, solitary bump on the center of his back (the rest of him is so perfect) that’s been irking him and he & takes pleasure in making me scratch for him. As I sat there… admiring him (I know it sounds corny but I really was… you ever just sit back an think about a person and are simply glad that they’re there? And thank [your] god(s) that everything about them is exactly the way it is?)  I wished it would go away for the both of us. I wished it would leave him alone. I’d been trying to get him to unwind all day. I’d tell him to “relax,” but he hates when people say that to him. So I sit and listen. I listen to him tell me whatever he thinks I should know. Whatever is stressing him comes out eventually. He shares his concerns with me and by the end of the night, I can finally get him to lay down. Sometimes, a  man just needs you to be there. Especially if he’s the type who really “good all by himself.” There’s nothing I can really do for him. I can’t (not cuz I can’t, but cuz I won’t) pay his bills or settle his disputes. He has to do that all by himself. Sometimes, ladies… you just need to be by hid side. There are some men out there, like mine, who has too  many stories –is he’s being honest with you. Personally, I like a man who’s been through a lot. I need an old soul. I can’t fuck with these  go-happy little boys who really have nothing to say about the world except for dreams of who they hope to be someday. “I don’t speak on shit I don’t know about, I swear. Some niggas spend all day talking about shit they don’t know,” he said. So I don’t say anything. I wait for him to tell me. There are questions I want to ask him. I want to know his whole story… but if I sit an wait patiently, I’m sure he’ll tell me everything as his trust for me continues to grow. If a man loves you, you never have to ask him anything –there are no questions. 

        I’m dealing with a complicated man. One who plays Jada’s “Things I’ve Been Through,” on repeat because it’s real nigga shit, he explained. I’m sure that I know him well, but I only know about 60% of him and I’m sure there’s 10% he’ll never tell. It’s funny because this mere 60% of him is realer than %200 percent of these other niggas out here. (My baby so real, yall.) He’s particular and has certain expectations that are somehow still understandable aside form their absurdity. We got seafood last night, and in an effort to keep the shit warm for him, I put it in a pot, on low, to keep it warm until he got in the house. “Babe, when I leave something here, please don’t touch my shit,” he told me as he held my hands (he’s afraid I’ll go crazy). I LOL’d so bad I was jumping up and down. “Hun, the simplest solution to this problem is don’t leave your shit here,” I explained.  He smiled too. He’s simultaneously everything I wanted and all I’ve been told to avoid. He’s perfectly wrong for me. He might just be the best bad decision I’ve ever made. 

I mean… I’m his. 

        PS: Even though I pride myself in being sure of the decisions I make… I feel like a chump and if you know me at all, you know that I’m not. I feel like you all might judge me for the submissive role I’ve just willingly assumed. Sabrina told me this morning that it doesnt matter what anyone else thinks and she’s right. I’m not going to let it affect me, but I can’t say I don’t think about.  Still, for my own ego… I need to clarify the way my boo & I rock out. While I make breakfast, he makes the bed.  He compliments my cooking then cleans up after himself. He watches the time for me and takes out the trash on our way downstairs. He opens doors (and I stop and wait). He walks me to the train every morning without harassing me about which side of the street I’m walking on (because it’s really more annoying than men think & I like to walk where I want to, thanks.) Before I head out, we exchange a kiss goodbye.  He tells me to have a nice day and to call him when I get off. I tell him to enjoy his and that I’ll call him when I can. He doesn’t ask why I don’t text during the day and he doesn’t try to force me to either. When I call him later, his first question is “How was your day?”the next is “Did you eat?” the third is “You miss me?” So please understand that he hasn’t quite put 15s on my Cavalier, but… if we’re speaking of cavaliers, I’ve found one, I assure you.  He makes my days perfect. 

My only complain is this: We’ve never done it in the morning. smh.