There are plenty of reasons I love being single – hogging the entire bed, wearing my hair in the same raggedy ponytail for three days straight, and not having to pretend to like WWE or UFC. But as we head into those snuggle buddy months, I recognize that there are any number of reasons to change my Facebook status from "Stop Asking Me" to "In a Relationship". But of course, it can't just be anybody… I do have my standards. So reflecting on my list of what Mr. OneChele must have, there is something I need placed way up there near the top of the list.
Requirement #2: Helpmate. Yes, Destiny's Child – I got your Independent Woman memo. House, car, clothes, jewelry – holding that down but sometimes, just sometimes it would nice to have someone of the male persuasion around who had my back. No offense to my BougieBros but it's not the same thing. You know that person who is feeling your pain, there when you get home with a glass of wine and a hot bath saying, "What can I do to make it all better?" Every now and then you just need someone who takes some of the weight of the world off your shoulders, eases your pain – no questions asked. The sexiest thing a man can say to me, "Don't worry, I got you." And for him to mean it and back it up? Watch me melt. Let me share another BougieTale from last week (it was a long, hard week ya'll) to illustrate my point:
So Thursday was a busy day, I woke up late and played catch up all day. Cut my workout short, ended up staying way too long in the hair chair (cut and color took forever), squeezed in a meeting with a client and spent fifty more dollars than I wanted to at Sam's Wholesale Club. Climbing into my car, I caught a glimpse of my hair color in the window. I didn't like the color in the sunlight. My stylist keeps inching me out of my auburn, medium brown comfort zone and into Beyonce/Queen Latifah blondeness. "You can totally pull that off" she told me. Yes, I could also pull off a leopard-print mini-skirt with thigh high boots but you won't see me rocking that either. But I digress, point is – I decided to swing by the drugstore on the way home to pick up L'oreal Feria #18 Pecan hair color with shimmering highlights.
I was rounding a corner less than three miles from my home when I noticed debris and glass in the road. I contemplated swerving to avoid it but the bright yellow Hummer to my right made that a no go. Reviewing it in my mind right now, I should have slowed down and waited then gone around it… but no – that's not what I did. I made the assumption that it wasn't that much stuff and drove right through it. I immediately heard a popping sound and the car went sluggish on the left hand side. My pleasant personality slipped and I muttered an impressive stream of expletives. Hitting the hazards, I went around the corner and pulled over in front of a fire station on a major side street just like BougieDad taught me. Getting out of the car, please imagine my glee to discover that I had shredded not one but BOTH left tires. Expensive, all weather tires no longer under warranty as of two months ago. L
Following the car maintenance rules BougieDad drilled into all of us, I broke out my AAA membership card and dialed in. Since my pleasant personality was on the slip, I held onto my patience as I maneuvered through four different menus to get to a human voice. I explained my situation, gave my location and was told a tow truck would be there within thirty minutes. A couple of fire dudes came out of the station to see if I needed help. They examined the damage and gave the universal male wince that says, "That's gonna be expensive, so glad I don't have to pay for it." After a few more minutes of chatting, I assured them I was fine and they went back inside. I called BougieMom to let her know where I was, then I called BougieBro to see if he was in town to scoop up the raw salmon and rotisserie chicken that was sitting in my trunk. He was not. I called three friends and a potential S.O., none of whom were available. It occurred to me that a boyfriend would be a good thing to have in this situation. BougieSis commiserated with me.
A few good Samaritans stopped to see if I needed assistance and I responded graciously. I sent a pitiful tweet about sitting by the side of the road and having an FML moment. Then I decided to look at the bright side, it was an absolutely beautiful night, not hot or cold, mild breeze. I was in a great part of town, I was safe and unharmed. I was fortunate enough to have AAA so it wasn't as if I didn't have resources. So what if I was hungry and thirsty and had to pee? So what if the mosquitoes were starting to circle (dive bomb)? I climbed back in the car to await the tow truck.
The phone rang thirty minutes later and the tow company informed me that since both left tires were shot, they needed to send a flatbed truck instead of the regular hauler so they would be another twenty minutes. Ooo-kay. What were my choices? If it wasn't for the fact that I had food in the trunk and had already made the call, I would have hoofed it home and dealt with the whole thing later. I will admit that as I popped open the trunk to get myself a bottle of water, I did contemplate breaking off a leg on that rotisserie chicken. My bouge would not allow me to sit on the side of the road gnawing on a chicken leg. I just couldn't do it. I dug a granola bar out of the bottom of my purse and pulled back out my BlackBerry. UberTwitter was down… fail.
Another thirty-five minutes passed before I called back the tow company. "Oh, Ms. Chele – AAA was supposed to call you. The truck that was on the way to get you broke down and they are going to have to find another service. Let me call them back and let them know you are still waiting." I said nothing, recalling the age-old adage – if you don't have anything nice to say… Seriously, the truck coming to save me now needed saving? For which youthful infraction was karma kicking me in the ass for this evening, I wondered?
I called AAA back and was assured that they were working on it. I did not believe. Looking around the car, I reached into the glove compartment and found my GEICO insurance card. On a whim (what did I have to lose?) I called the 800 number. I was put straight through to a human who took my information and actually asked after my welfare, "Are you hurt? Are you in need of medical attention? Are you in a safe neighborhood?" Good questions, none of which AAA had asked. GEICO assured me that their truck would be there in twenty-five minutes. Whatever.
It was now dark outside. I ran into the firehouse to use their facilities and flirt with one of Dallas' finest before heading back out to the car. A minute later, a red BMW pulled over and a young white guy got out of the car. Short, kinda pasty with rumpled polo shirt, khakis and sandals. He introduced himself as Paul and asked if I needed assistance. I answered him and told him he could go. He responded by settling in on the hood of my car. Le Sigh. Paul made small talk (I wasn't in the mood) for a few minutes until ratcheting up to his purpose, "Tell me, do you know the Word?" Le Double Sigh.
"Are you talking about the Word of the Lord, Paul?"
"Yes, yes I am – are you a believer?"
"Yes Paul, I grew up in the church, thank you."
"That's wonderful. I'm a missionary and I do Christian Outreach for at risk members of society."
You say "at risk", I hear "black and brown people without money". Le Triple Sigh. "Well that's important work, it must be fulfilling."
Ignoring the dry "can you please leave" tone of my voice, Paul launched into a soliloquy of his good works. I tuned him out and wondered just what I might have done to piss off the cosmos. This was not my finest week. Thankfully, a mere five minutes into his speech a truck came down the road. My flatbed had arrived at long last. I hopped out of the car. Out of curiosity I asked, "Who sent you?" Hottie Latino truck driver (HLTD) says, "GEICO ma'am, can you sign here?" Signing I turned to Paul, "So kind of you to wait, thank you and good luck." He continued to hover. While HLTD began loading up my wounded baby, I hit the redial on the Blackberry. I politely informed AAA that their 2.5-hour-still-not-here tow truck was no longer needed. "Oh are, you sure – we just found somebody." CLICK. STRATOSPHERIC FAIL AAA. After lo these many years of membership?!
Striding over to the tow truck to hop in the cab, I heard a throat clear behind me. I forgot about Paul. Le Quadruple Sigh. "Yes?" "Did you want to exchange numbers or something?" HLTD unsuccessfully covers up a laugh. I, for once in my life, am speechless. "Umm…" I floundered while Paul grabbed my hand, pressed a business card into it with a squeeze and says, "Just if you to chat or get coffee sometime. Be blessed." "Uh, okay. You too." Freaking cherry on the sundae of my day.
By the time I got home (close to three hours after the "Incident"), I really could've used an already cooked meal, a pitcher of wine, a hot bath, a big hug and whatever other stress-relieving remedy a man's creative mind could dream up. What I got was a pat on the back from BougieMom, a trunk load of groceries to put away, a shot of rum and a hastily tossed together meal. So while I'm making my wish list of requirements for Mr. Sweetheart, I believe I'll add compassionate with a soothing personality (when needed), a romantic problem solver who either cooks or gives good take out to the list.