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Now, Agents J and K must stop the bug before it can escape with the galaxy. He is searching for a super energy source called "The Galaxy".He never bought (let alone read) that one or the first.He begged me out to eat often (ranging from sushi to Boston Market), texted me decent but fairly common poetry, paraded me around his musician friends as his “girlfriend” after a few days, gave exclamation to all my color-coordinated and accessorized outfits, talked my ear off about his music dreams and projects, sang my loathed and familiar so-called compliment of “Chooocolate” on a daily basis, and certainly made a show of circling my body whenever I wore a dress so he could admire my derriere and “them hips!It meant driving a few friends to their more regular gigs before they arose at 5 a.m. My father was a factory worker, so that was not it.It was the misrepresentation that we had a career and life experience in common. Then, he would have known better to have thought we might be a match. there really is no context for most people as to what that means.Will we sell out if we flee off to the suburbs or Europe?
I have a friend who had a man take her there for their first date. And, he took her on a Sunday afternoon after all the churches let out … This friend and I both survived the University of Chicago.I flashed my smile often, showed I could snake with the best of them, threw on my FUBU outfit for the basketball games, and rapped along to Kid-n-Play or Will Smith on Video Soul. I did not invite the Pep Club to my piano recitals.I kept my obsession with the Sophocles’ tetralogies to my closet intellectual self.The term “Domestic Goddess” is a natural descriptor that anyone who tastes our food or enters our home experiences. A conversation with any one of us is as significant a pleasure as winning (or losing) at Trivial Pursuit. Yet, we remain ensconced by and encased within a world that is more likely to view us as that banshee-yelling-at paternity-tests and referees on daytime talk shows, or as that helpless dysfunctional problem to be solved (or saved) within impoverished and violent environments, or that half-talented songstress whining catchy hooks for the booty-shaking crowd, or that distressed foreign woman in dire circumstances of need, or that “angry” and “mad” thing …These gentlemen I have discussed here are a part of this world -- and they were Black and educated themselves. But for other women, the “bad dates” occur at sophisticated venues where the grievances hover more in the realms of personality incompatibility, or crudeness on the part of the male, or the poor guy’s awful choice of tie. They have been discussed, ad nauseam, by writers and cultural critics the world over.When we have dated men of other races who relate to our minds, we suffered dirty looks in our own communities. For Black women, another dimension to this fact of life usually contributes to our unique tales: We are stricken with the heavy task of overturning stereotypes that demean the experiences we ought to have in this world. Most people would fail this quiz:• Did you see a Black woman wearing glasses or reading a book on TV this week?