Amanda’s Introduction and
Family Tree I
W
hy is it that all little girls want to grow up to be strong, beautiful wives? Is it because from the moment we arrive, our mothers start dressing us in our cute Sunday outfits? You know, it all begins with your
first pair of lace socks and pink or yellow pair of ruffled-butt panties. Before you know it, you’re shopping for debutante and prom gowns, and let’s not leave out the most important part, the fine date.
It’s all about being cute enough and smart enough to meet the right man. Do you know anyone that was able to obtain that tall order? Sure you do, but they’re not sharing their secret.
My name is Amanda. I’m thirty-one years old, and I haven’t made any progress since I danced the night away in my emerald green prom dress. For that matter, neither have my three best friends—Celeste, Monique, and LaNae.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re happy, but we’re single. We’re professional, attractive black women with nice (fat) bank accounts, and we’re still single. Yes, we’ve tried and made many, many mistakes. I wonder, does it all go back to the summer of ’79 when we, the Cougar Cats, as we called ourselves, made a pact with each other to never date outside of our race, to never date anyone with kids, to always be our own boss, and to never marry a man whose income was below our own?
It can’t be that. We were black and proud and knew that some superfine athlete was going to take us all the way to the top with them, or at least hold the ladder while we climbed to the top on our own. We’d seen several black men climb to the top with a football or basketball in one hand and a blond-haired, blue-eyed chick on the other.
How is it that they have the right formula to get that man to the altar? What gives? Can you also explain to me why having a chick that’s not his same race on his arm causes a black man to feel like he’s made it? You know what just came to me? It’s not only the man that feels like he’s made it, but it’s every other black man that sees him and thinks that that’s a part of success.
You can count on one hand the number of successful white men who have picked up a colored woman at the gas station, a drug store, or a bus stop; took her home to meet his family and he’s talking about a wedding date . . I don’t think so . . .
Who’s going to be brave enough to ask someone that’s living that life the question why"? Hell, I’m not, but I sure wish someone would. There has to be a few single black males out there looking for a soul mate in the form of an Egyptian Black Queen.
Me and my chicks (Celeste, Monique, and LaNae) got together and decided to share our personal lives with you. It may bless your soul to know that you are not the only woman in the world to make poor decisions or just plain stupid mistakes, all in the name of love, lust, and the fantasy of a life of happiness ever after. This is our story in our words and situations we’ve shared or worked through with each other. We are the first to admit and confess that we came up short in fairy tales and magic class (we went to the beach that day and missed the review). There are no ruby slippers that can get you out of a mess, but you can put on a pair of red pumps to make your man forget he’s mad at you; that magic works about thirty minutes. Then he’s asking you when did you get the shoes and how come he’s never seen them before and who else have you been wearing them for. For some of us, we are treated to an unexpected ride in a tornado.
The details of that adventure are a few chapters away, so stay tuned. We’ll learn there’s no Prince Charming just around the corner waiting for us.
He won’t ride in on a horse, snatch us up, and ride us off into the sunset. Mostly he’s coming on a bus, and you’ll need to loan him fare to get home.
The closest you’ll get to seeing a Prince is by standing in line to get front row tickets to his concert. If you’re wearing purple you might catch his eye but instead of a kiss or a touch of his hand, he may bat his eyelashes at you and throw you his pocket hanky.
Now about those frogs . . . You find yourself spending all your free time at your local fishing hole trying to pick the right frog to take home and make a life with. Ha!
Next thing ya know, people are talking about how you smell due to all the ugly, smelly frogs you’ve been making out with and kissing. My sisters, let me hip you to a thing or two: they stayed frogs. You’d do better to fi nd someone down on his luck. Give him (and yourself after the frog adventure) a bath, a haircut, and enroll him in adult school. Then keep him on ice till the wedding day because one of your skanky friends will not care where you got him from or what you had to do to get him straightened out. They’ll see fresh meat and want him for themselves.
Question, "How did men figure out that a dog would be his best friend, but women can’t figure out that a human cat is never going to be her best companion?"
Okay, that’s a funny joke; and if you’re not laughing, you’ve mostly had too many bad cat women experiences in your life and you need to do something about it.
All right, back to fairy-tale land. Balls are wonderful to attend if you’re not fighting off your mean stepsisters or you don’t have to witness Prince Charming dancing the night away with your skanky ex-best friend because she’s promised to make him feel like a king before the night’s over. Finding love is no fairy-tale experience. You have to make sound decisions, and any improvements that need to be made should start with you. You should ask yourself and know how you feel about yourself: do you have a healthy love for yourself? What do you know about men and dating, and do you have reasonable expectations about what is available and obtainable in the wonderful world of relationships, dating, and marriage?
Now that you know where I’m coming from, let me tell you a little bit about me and how I became the woman I am.
I, Amanda Kelli Winters, am a doctor. I bring life into this world, and I just wonder sometimes if I’ll experience this joy for myself in the traditional way. Yes, with husband in tote. Marriage is supposed to be forever. I’ve been told that once you start to resign yourself to the realities that you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with this one person, you’ll start to ask yourself, is this love and all that comes with it enough for you? And check this: if you’re thinking it, he’s been thinking it.
I’ve had a few relationships, but none so far that I thought would take me all the way to the finish line—you know, the altar.