Lippie Mr. Crocs

Pacing back and forth on the sales floor, I had to rationally talk myself down from going off and giving this gentleman (or what gentle part was left of him) a piece of my mind through text. This guy mastered the cruelest ways of getting underneath my skin. His antics made me want to grind my teeth and tell him every part of the asshole he was, but that’s absolutely what he wanted. A catty, feisty woman to go toe-to-toe with him and I honestly couldn’t bring myself to giving him that bit of satisfaction…

I met “WBD” while I was still in my fashion studies at college. My life was complete and utter chaos, from midterms to weekly assignments in addition to maintaining a position as a Fur Consultant in the city. With so much going on around me, I just wanted an aspect of stability. The hustle and bustle daily seemed so overwhelming, I needed an outlet of relaxation and companionship. WBD seemed to be a source for both. Back then, I never met someone of his caliber. To be honest, I thought he was “amazing shit”. All of the other men I came across were either grunge, stoner hipsters, immature PC geeks or my college professors. Once I accepted the fact that my college professors were out of the question (and trust me that was a big pill to swallow), WBD seemed like the perfect suitor I could hang out with once school and work gave me an opportunity to breathe.

“WBD” was glitter and gold that glimmered from afar. Witty, conversational and most importantly, stable in his career. I met him as he was just hitting the thirties mark, and his resume was quite impressive. Not originally a city native, “WBD” was a rather well-rounded (literally and figuratively speaking) individual. A Temple University graduate, solid career in the medical profession, part-time worker at a local William-Sonoma and other unmentionable ways of receiving a handsomely full income. “WBD” was everything I was used to and some of what I actually wasn’t. He possessed mystery, strength and most of all, security. I was entranced by this white man’s accolades and ability to relate to who I was. He put on his corporate “white face” when necessary, but around me in his comfort I experienced an entirely different person. He was the first educated white man that had more street-smarts and lingo than I’ve ever encountered. Kind of like Eminem in “8 Mile” without the 8 miles…

He was so unique in his personality, I was in awe. I wanted to know everything there was about him like the first black girl he ever dated and what was his fascination with hip-hop and the urban culture. The more I talked to him or he avoided my questions with silence, I came to understand this was just who he was. His mentality was nothing like any white guy I ever encountered, and if I may be frank his street smarts were far more impressive than any black guy I’ve ever come across at the time. He had the smarts and skills of a Soprano, but at the drop of a hat he’d spend an evening watching the Travel channel which would always get me to raise a brow. He was an all around mental, heartthrob to me. I quickly learned that these are the men I’m attracted to! The ones I can bring to a corporate dinner but in the same breath could handle himself in a rough neighborhood or setting. There wasn’t much that intimidated WBD, however he was very sophisticated and didn’t take unnecessary risks. I secretly idolized him.

Other things I noted about him was in addition to his snappy personality was the fact that he was a bit of a hoarder. Not a disgusting one, just one that owned a bit of everything. From the Bob Marley painting hanging in the living room to the bags and bags of William Sonoma items that just sat in front of the big screen never even opened. He had bottles of unopened liquor in every room from his travels and collection. WBD was much of a collector of things that interested him. He lived in a small two bedroom duplex that was full of random things and a ton of unmentionables everywhere. WBD didn’t deprive himself of anything he wanted. He paid for everything with cash and made his man cave quite to his liking. The only thing I realized he didn’t own was a comb. Every once in a while when I’d stop over to hang out, I’d ask to style his hair. With much resist, he’d eventually let me but he didn’t ever have a comb for me to use. He didn’t believe in combing his hair and convinced me that’s why black people’s hair wouldn’t grow because we’re always messing with it. As offensive as it sounds, he actually has a point.

His manes were big and curly but semi well-kept along with his big red beard. WBD would only let his barber cut his hair and wouldn’t touch it much until he saw his barber again. WBD was the first manly man to admit to me that he actually gets his eyebrows trimmed by his barber which explained their immaculate shape. Unlike his eyebrows, WBD himself was in terrible shape. His belly was at least 20 months in, I don’t think he’s remembered the last time he actually saw anything past it (I called him the white Rick Ross, before Ross lost weight that is). For someone so big, you’d think he would be humble. There wasn’t a humble bone in his body. He was rude, arrogant and argued like my Jamaican mother. It was such a turn off. I tried to tell myself I understood him because I understood my mother. That’s an even bigger load of crap to stomach. Just because I understood his attitude doesn’t mean I wanted to put up with it.

With almost a year of knowing one another, it was almost like I didn’t know him at all. He was moody, I never know which way the wind blew with his attitude and I didn’t want to keep investing but I still cared. So I gave things a try yet again. One evening WBD came to pick me up so we could hang out in hopes of giving our “friendship” a try. He came to get me in his work scrubs and Crocs, which is actually all I ever saw him in now that I think about it. As I followed him upstairs, I giggled to myself watching his Crocs lean to the side and cry for help under his weight. Such a big man with an even bigger ego.

He told me he had to shower and left me in the midst of all of his belongings. I did what any other curious young woman would do, I searched. I don’t know what I was looking for but I needed to find some kind of clues about this man and why he was so guarded with his emotions. I cared, practically loved this man that I’d never been intimate with (yes I fall mentally without the physical). By the time I got to his bedroom, my eyes wandered over his desk. I couldn’t help but notice a small ring near the keyboard, entirely too small for his sausage fingers. Above the desk was a compartment on the overhead that needed a key to open. Just my luck, it was actually unlocked. I checked to make sure the shower was still at its peak. Indeed it was and like a little Inspector Gadget, I slowly opened the compartment door sure to not make a peep. Once opened, there were rolls of money falling out at me. My mouth dropped. I was used to seeing money, but didn’t this guy believe in a bank? Of all the men I knew I thought he’d be one of those with multiple accounts floating around in cyber space. I threw the money back in the same way it had fallen out. I may be many things, but I’m not a thief. There was no joy for me taking one of those rolls when I knew there’s a bigger picture (probably floating in cyber space) somewhere. More importantly, I actually liked him for him. Not for his hidden money stashes. I wanted him, and I wanted him to take me seriously.

There were more things I noticed that night. Like his sleep oxygen mask, apparently he was bigger than I thought. We watched television in the living room after he finally came out of the shower. I sat in my comfortable manner as I always do. His money really and truly didn’t phase me, if anything it just added more mystery to who the hell he was. A show happened to be on about fixing businesses in economic danger and the host was going over profit and loss numbers in a particular scenario. I blurted out a figure of what I thought the profit/loss margin was, showing off my Retail Math course skills (a class I didn’t particularly like, but another hot professor made it tolerable). Immediately, WBD corrected me. Not only were my numbers way off, his figures were on the nose! My insides screamed, “Marry me!” But my outsides sighed in exasperation because I didn’t know what else to do.

At this point we were both fidgety and uncomfortable, so he suggested we go into his bedroom to finish watching television. That was what I loved the most, laying in his arms and rubbing on his ginormous belly. It was like Santa came early. I felt peaceful and comfortable and finally had the courage to ask while kissing his face off. “When will you take me seriously?” My temper was serious but delicate. “Take me seriously WBD.” He just looked at me but never answered. At that point he started to undress when I looked at him with an even more quizzical face. What the hell is he doing? This is not an answer to my question. I was no longer a gullible young lady you could side track with sexual tension. I needed an answer. I needed to know when he would take me seriously. He never answered and he took me home that night without getting one. He damn sure didn’t get anything either.

I moved on knowing what I knew about him and left it at that. My boyfriend at the time and I were going through a bad argument, and I searched Facebook for any clues on WBD. He’d texted me a few times in between but because I was seeing someone I never really responded. While snooping on Facebook, I’d come to discover two things: One I already knew and the other a complete shock to me. The first was that indeed a black girl did break his heart. I happened to see some evidence of who she was and that she actually broke it off with him for good. I’m guessing she took his heart with her because he was never fully able to heal after his apparent “college sweetheart”. The second thing I learned shocked me to my core. WBD had Multiple Sclerosis for years and never told me. I felt betrayed like I was left out of the group text messages. Why didn’t he think he should tell me? I was so honest with him with everything other than my affection, why couldn’t he do the same with me?

On a temporary break from a relationship with my boyfriend at the time, this was the perfect time to heal myself of WBD. I reached out to him and with semi-open arms, he accepted and invited me over. Surprisingly this time, the apartment was a bit cleaner and so was the haziness of my mind. We sat beside one another on the couch watching television as we always did. In front of me laid new items to his collection. A foot massager barely used and earthy looking beaded bracelets on his mini “work” table. I looked down at the massager and asked him when did he get that? He looked down with this devilish grin, replying “Oh this?” while using his foot to move it from in front of me to in front of him. I thought to myself, “This asshole has got to be kidding me.” What drove me crazy the most was the way he perceived me as one of his usual conquests that weren’t used to the joys of life. Times had changed and I was much more aware than when he just met me. I rolled my eyes to the beads and asked when and where did he get the bracelets. They were actually kind of cool. He told me he purchased them offline. I tested the waters, “Can I have one? You’re not going to wear all three are you?” I promised I used the most innocent, sultry voice. More than I ever had to use on my current off/on again boyfriend who bought me anything I asked, as long as I asked.

“I just bought them,” he responded. I knew at that very moment, he’d never be the man for me. He was big, mean, cheap, and from what I saw had a very little penis. Why should I bother? Eventually I headed out drier than when I arrived (I’m sure he could say the same for himself), and thank God this time I drove myself over so I didn’t need him to do anything except watch me leave. I walked down his steps knowing I’d never be back again. He didn’t deserve me or any woman for that matter. Maybe a blow-up doll, nothing more.  We squabbled a few times back and forth via text after that. Let’s face it: I’m cold, I’m not heartless. This was a man I truly cared about but he was a consistent dick. I prided myself of being the bigger person, letting him know how loyal I actually was to him, the times I’d find his money all over the house and never took a cent. His response was, “How do I know that?” That was the first time he actually ever broke my heart. Anything he ever said to me before of after was a scrape. That statement was a punch in the gut.

I soon came to learn that money or any other money in the house was to pay for prostitutes and sexual favors. I was beyond done in disgust. Here I am genuinely a woman that cares about you, and you’re telling me you pay for pleasure? To this day, I can never comprehend or wrap my mind around that (he could’ve been lying to soothe my soul but its a plausible scenario). The psychologist in me gathers he’d rather pay than to be emotionally involved given his sickness. After all once MS finally came up in conversation, he was kind enough to let me know his sickness can kick in at any moment and he wouldn’t be able to move on his own. His mouth was saying one thing, but all I saw was him pushing me away. Our arguments became so bad, I don’t even know if I can allow myself to be empathetic or sympathetic anymore. Periodically I would check in just to make sure he was okay, but his snarky, malicious comments makes me not even want to give a damn and I’m done with checking in. However, I’m too good of a person to wish suffering on anyone, so I’ll wish him the best from afar.

 

Dear Little Penis, Lippie, and Miserable Mr. WBD,

 

Crocs are not your friend.

 

With Love,

 

Tamara.

 

 

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