Confession: Apparently people “forget” about the strides that BW are making in this world. There’s this one strange thing that I take joy from, whenever I am participating in a “girls night out” function with my homegirls.
I have been blessed with four awesome best friends since we were rocking Day-Glo short sets and jellies. Each of us are different. We look different. But we mesh very well together. Some of us have sleeves of tattoos, cotton candy colored Afros, decorated dreads, piercings and eclectic clothes.
In restaurants and in movie theaters, I’ve heard murmurs about us. “Ratchets”…“Clowns…” “Ghetto…” And this type of stuff had come from people of all races.
Now, here’s where I find the joy. I find the joy in the fact that these people underestimate us. I enjoy the fact that they underestimate our levels of confidence. Our levels of intelligence. Our self-awareness. Our levels of empathy. Our softness. Our humor. Our warmth. Our loveliness. Our sultriness. Our ability to engage in conversation, where we leave our talking-partners feeling secure, warm and accepted.
I also find joy in the moments when they realize that these “ratchet BW with the tattoos and the big, colorful hair” are accountant (the one with the sleeves), a pediatrician(the friend with the pink Afro), a HVAC specialist (cheek and brow piercings), a pharmacist (sleeves and fire engine red hair), a computer engineer(a tattoo sleeve and bright pink hair) and a city employee (me… Red hair and several back tattoos). And we talk about (at our tables, but these buzzards were nosy as fuck) topics ranging from fashion, comic books and cartoons to politics, music and sports and everything else in between. Shit, one of those talks lured a man’s attention away from a group date, one night.
And I also enjoy the moment when they get this subtle “oh shit. I fucked up” look on their faces and they shut-completely-the fuck up.