Classic NYC Story

…My imperfections annoy me. My inability to keep to a time schedule annoys me. My chronic lateness to things, my constant state of being behind, my tendency to overpromise and underdeliver…

…there is always that moment when you look out the window and see autumn colored ivy growing on the brownstone walls in Harlem, and everything becomes all right again.

“She’s a queen…. All black women are queens.”

I refrained from making the joke that I was raised in Queens. I really just wanted to finish my pizza.

Me: If you were a tourist, you’d have a return ticket.
Him: Good point.
Me: You’re a new New Yorker.

I’ve figured that much out by now. It’s her duty to tell me that I’m making a big mistake regardless of what I’m doing. It’s also her duty to find out what I’m doing so that she can tell me that it’s a big mistake. Sometimes I wonder if that’s fun for her or if she does it because she doesn’t know how else to communicate.

It takes some doing… Monkery’s the blues you hear, keeping on from year to year.

I sit in corners. He attempts to rescue me. He attempts to pull me into the group… or rather, to gather the group around me, because where he goes, people tend to follow him.

That being said, until yesterday afternoon, I had never been inside the Marriage Bureau before. I had never before seen my name hyphenated and preceded by a “Mrs.” I had never seen it before written on paper in something more official than my own messy, loopy handwriting. I am not married yet, but I have my name on a marriage license.

I don’t understand it because it’s not in English. I do understand it though because… well, I just do. Share and Enjoy

There were too many males at the table. Occasionally they ganged up on me. In retrospect, that’s probably a good sign. It means they’ll all get along fine.