Tuesday, May 7, 2013

How Not To Get A Woman

Once I was hanging out in my deli on the corner a few years ago. No, I wasn't working as a hooker. I was getting my coffee. Anyway, I was chilling with Jackson my cabbie buddy when this dude walks in. He was young, good looking, and had skin that was as smooth as silk and black like a rare pearl. His eyes were dark and piercing. Oh and he was all rugged. While I will date anyone who is sane these days, I usually favor a darker complexion. I mean, I will date a pasty dude but we both can't look like the sun will kill us for the sake of our children is all I am saying.

Anyway Jackson had to go back to work and I was left with this dude. He started talking to me and told me he was from Ghana. Already I heard the horror stories about African men men knocking up women and leaving them with child as they raced to play Johnny Appleseed. Jamaican men are apparently worse. The crown of course belongs to the Puerto Ricans in this politically incorrect game of Maury Povich. I wasn't judging him based off of race. That is like saying all Asians are bad drivers and all Jews are cheap bastards.

So we began talking and he revealed he had two children with two different mothers back in Ghana. I was like okay. This is how the conversation went from there:

Ghana Bob: Do you have children?

Me: Hell no.

Ghana Bob: Why hell no? It is our purpose on this planet to have children.

Me: That is up for debate. I think certain people aren't designed to have children. And I actually think I would be a terrible mother.

Ghana Bob: Not if you had my baby you wouldn't.

Me: Excuse me?

Ghana Bob: Yes, I have been seeing you coming to this deli for some time. I just have the picture of the two of us. You would make a really great mother. I think you should have my baby.

I laugh nervously

Me: That is really funny.

Ghana Bob: No, I'm serious.

Me: Don't you think that this is moving a little fast? I mean, we just met.

Ghana Bob: This worked on both my children's mothers.

I get up

Me: I need to leave

Ghana Bob: Where are you going?

Me: To run far away from you and to staple my clothes onto my body in case we ever meet again.

Needless to say, that is my first and last African dude. Ghana Bob probably went to find some idiot with two brain cells in order to add a half white baby to his collection. Or an idiot from any race with two brain cells, but the idiot was probably white because white people are dumb. I of course have twelve wonderful little puppet children I am mother to that have caused me no stretch marks.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

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