What in the hell has happened to all the grown men?! What’s my motivation? Yes, I’m gonna be doing some cussin, and I’m completely aware that I’m about to start an argument, but it has to be said–today’s man is represented by a bunch of baby boys with joystick addiction and zero ambition. Side chicks and ugly broads (physically, emotionally, internally, etc) are winning. The men of my generation have simply stopped reaching, based on my observations.
What am I saying exactly? There was this guy, friend of a friend. He came and told me how he wanted us to be a couple. Said he was watching me and he knew what he wanted. I was seriously considering it, but I had questions, so I asked. He was clearly irritated. I was dumped three days later. Fine. Next guy came in more humble, but still with the I like you a lot. This one had me ret ta go, bags packed, all the way on the team. Next thing I know he’s on a milk carton. No argument, no warning, no indication of any kind. If I reached out today, he’d probably be like “Hey Baby, I miss you.” Really? No like really? Dude, we’re in our 40s. We just … wth did we just do? Huh?
On an average day, I run to the corner store, Lowe’s, the grocery store or car wash, off the average look–ponytail or whatever, flip-flops or other casual shoe, jeans or sundress–regular. Somebody holds the door, somebody chats it up with me, somebody may ask my name or if we can be “friends.” I’ll smile at any of them all the same and politely decline the bullshit friends offer. Do I even need to go into why it’s bullshit, or can we just move on, knowing that we all know? Okay.
Being a creature of habit, I visit the same places often. But I don’t always look the same. When I’m on my grown woman shit, not only do I go unrecognized, but ain’t no doors swinging open unless I’m in the workplace lobby. Oh they’re looking, but it goes no further than that. Cause I’m just another snooty, pretty girl who “think she like that.” You’re damn right I’m like that! And then some. I’m ready to build this winning team and kick ass. I absolutely do not look like what I’ve been through. But isn’t a grown woman supposed to carry herself with dignity, take pride in her appearance, and command attention simply with her quiet, confident presence? What kind of power couple would we be without any power? I’m gonna just leave that right there.
Again, the men of my generation have apparently stopped reaching–for the love and respect of a good woman, for family headship, for greatness, for financial independence, for leadership roles in the community, for God’s favor even. Working is a major life goal. Yeah, just having a job is enough for many. Getting the best weed, not eating pork, drinking lots of water, even though they smoked a pound of weed or drank a half gallon of whatever spirits, and copping that new Call of Duty or Madden joint is motivating. Which leaves quality women everywhere reaching in the back of the drawer, figuratively and literally. Cause most quality women would rather stick with a sorry lover for consistency, and cause she can depend on him to be there in her time of need, or satisfy herself, rather than remain untouched. What a waste. W.T.F….
Side chicks and ugly broads are winning, sort of. I mean, they’re the goto for the men of my generation (probably others too). They’re everywhere, easily accessible, predictable, manageable, willing, easy. She could have the most obvious mental disorder or completely ugly personality, but it won’t matter to the baby boys cause they want her for her ability to take it how they give it, and do so efficiently. “Open your mouth when I tell you.” Might as well be an inflatable doll with life-like insides for all they care. When and if he’s ready to get it in, he’s going to her.
A couple of dollars on occasion gets him any kind of sex he wants, a place to lay his head if he needs it, and he can get up and go after he gets his 50 pumps and leaves those kids wherever he chooses. Zero obligation. Zero expectation. Zero ambition. And all these women are fighting over this bunch of nothings. That’s why it continues.
I won’t fight for you. But I won’t ball my face up when I pass you, cause that’ll just take away from my polished package. And I know that just like you have 12-15 base model broads after you, it’s possible that you’re the one baby boy out of the masses who’s ready to man up because you recognize I’m that needle in a haystack, diamond you gotta dig for kinda woman you never knew you’d find. I need you to know right away how different I am. It may be your lucky day; you can finally stop jerking joysticks, playing with stupid, ugly dolls and stuff.
Maybe.
From the Mind of:
Tonya D Floyd, Author
www.tonyadfloyd.com