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Plenty of Fish (PoF)

As a young black girl I grew up reading the best of Debbie Macomber and Sandra Brown, if you don’t know who they are, Google them and it will explain why I’m a corny ass hopeless romantic who believes that men should still pull up outside of your window on some mad corny-ish; guitar or harmonica in hand while professing their love in the parking lot. I believe in picnics by warm lakes, accompanied with wine and weed-slightly urban, but mainly romantic.

There’s an art to the romance game and the last guy I was rocking with seemed to be a Picasso dripping in pink and red. Hell, he told me he loved me the first week! This of course was after we went horse back riding, romantic trips to the mountains, and Face-timed everyday while speaking no words, just making googly eyes at each other, smiling until our cheeks hurt and our teeth were dry.

We were goofy.
We were in the honeymoon stage, rather the I-think-you’re-amazing-because-I-don’t-really-know-your-ass stage. But one day that stage cracked. Crumbled. And folded us up.

You ever see your reflection in someones eyes and realize it doesn’t look like you? That happened. The woman he saw was me, but only from one angle, my “good” angle of course. He had been emotionally cat-fished by no intention of my own, I failed his fantasy. After about a month of over-zealousness we settled into lukewarm love. He was now romantically lazy and I was working overtime to muster up new ways to keep his attachment. I can admit it was for purely egotistical reasons. I didn’t want him. What I did want was to feel like I had won, I was addicted to his initial obsession and my ego begged for more.

I kept trying to reinvent myself, to establish a new spark but it wasn’t working and I was growing tiresome of tap dancing for no pay.

He was no entertainer himself, I’d start arguments just to feel something, and he deserved it, the man was more negative than every pregnancy test I took privately in the bathroom while he slept peacefully. Dude was annoyed by everything, he could see the bad in a dove. I became resentful. This mothafucka snuck me into a relationship. He wasn’t this great guy, he was a con-artist.

After awhile I became okay with self-sabotaging our non-existent companionship, I encouraged the idea of an open relationship–practically pushing him into the wombs of other women just to get a reaction; I would nag, and nit-pick in effort to provoke enthusiasm from our laggard love…and sometimes it would work…he would yell, we would cry, phones would get hung up, calls were ignored, and my heart would pump really hard after the deep slumber called his affection. My new addiction was gathering myself into an emotional whirlwind to excitedly tearing him down, swallowing him up with my college words that he couldn’t understand, bullying him with 50,000 dollars worth of education, walking on his ego with street curses, and ghetto language all in effort to watch him wither the same way my soul had the day I realized he wasn’t my Romeo. I hated this mean girl version of me, but he was no saint, he met me halfway with the disparagement, eventually we grew weak from all the battles.

Love did lose this time.

Phone numbers and social medias were blocked this time.

We didn’t make up this time.

So now here I am… dancing my fingers up and down the mobile Plenty of Fish dating website to find the man or woman that I can take a new romantic journey with, maybe a journey less toxic, less of an initial exaggeration, and more of a long-term fulfilling partnership…after a month of clicking on avatars of folks taking raggedy bathroom pics, a few weeks of reading long-ass messages from men who resembled back-alley creeps, and days of sifting through the profiles of those whose sole goal is to bed me, I came across two real contenders. A man who resembles Mandingo and a man who echos the vibes of 90’s Babyface. Both are looking for love. Both may find it with me.

You know what they say; there are plenty of fish in the sea, that may be true, but hopefully I can find one that I won’t have to throw back, (at least not for awhile).

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