Saturday, September 19, 2009


Imagine. A skin tight black ruffled tank top, bootleg jeans, and open toe heels. Her lips draped in clear gloss, eyelashes laced with mascara, and drop curls draping the smooth soft brown skin of her neck. A single black tear drops into her white wine, painted by the now smudged mascara. The stickiness of her gloss, fades from her lips with each sip. And the curls fall flat as she wipes her eyes. These are the characteristics of the stood-up female. Her eyes glance the door every five minutes, the "question-marked" text messages flash across her dates screen, and she feels a ghost vibration of the phone in her purse that has ceased to ring since she got here. Ask her why she's come? Ask her why she didn't have him come to get her? Ask her why after 2 hours and a long conversation with the bartender, is she still here?

There is one simple answer. LOVE.
The unattainable.
The detrimental.
The mystical.

Some women will tell you they are too independent for the two step, the diamond ring, the kids, the house and car, and of course the man. However, we've all pondered it at least once. This pondering is the sole cause of baby momma drama, late nights, dealing with the "other" woman, arguments, and of course the infamous "waiting." Whether you're waiting for him at the bar, the alter, the commitment, or on the stoop with the child you brought into this world together. We as women, are always waiting. Even though we flail our arms to Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" and Ne-Yo's "Independent Women", we are still haunted by "waiting." While we are watching the sand sift down the hour glass, our worst fears come to life. The clutching of pillows at night, the deadly stares in our mirrors picking at our insecurities, and the dance of our fingertips along our physical aspects we'd love to hide.

For the woman who is torn watching her friend(s) prance from man to man, and feels she is all alone. You're one in a million. Most of us are waiting; for the right one, for that aisle, and for something everlasting. I am that girl who waited last night, who tapped her fingernails across the glass as his footsteps shimmied behind me. I am the girl who never tires of waiting but is fed up with disrespect. Disrespect is the reason i rolled my eyes. Disrespect is the reason i snatched up my purse. Disrespect is the reason I left. But waiting, that sweet sorrowful journey with a light at the end of the road, is exactly what i walked into when i left that bar. I am not afraid of the two step, but i refuse to dance with the undeserving.

His text message said, "I'm Sorry, Can we try this again?"

I told him, "Sure, grab an umbrella, and stand under my rain check on that. But most importantly. WAIT."
**Shoutout to MizzDMW for her own blog entry on waiting after being inspired by this one.*


Unknown said...

I am not afraid of the two step, but i refuse to dance with the undeserving.


Anonymous said...

snaps. claps. standng o
i think you might have ventured into my mind on that one. needless to say this reminds me of a quote from a song...

"the saddest part of a broken heart, isn't the ending so much as the start. the tragedy starts at the very first spark; losing your head for the sake of your heart." -Feist

Michael DeAntonio said...

Wow. I was going to make an immature comment about how the brown skin, curls and mascara sounded hot, but damn you are a good writer.

I forgot how much I enjoy reading your blog.

DdotRENEE said...


Amoni said...

I could probably go on about how your writing seeps through my veins,and I can feel every emotion.
I could also tell you how the beauty of your words are undefinable.
Then again,I would be stating the obvious.

MIzzDMW said...

Her heart jumps with every buzz/beep of her phone. Gets excited every time the door swings. Her friends are texting "How's it going?" She can't answer, because it's not. She falls asleep with tear stained pillows on her birthday. I am her. She used to be me. Time and words, once spent, are two things that you can't get back.

I, too, have waited...