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Adwoa gave me a weak smile and salute, then walked away.
Brown SugarShow: Archives
Hi guys,
It’s your girl, K, and yes, it’s that time again where I break down my advice on how to maneuver yourselves around mandem. Now, I don’t know if you lot know this, but I actually have a Ph.D. in fuckboiology. Yes, I, Kiki Banjo, am a doctor of this particular field of science, and I have taken it upon myself to do a quick tutorial on a phenomenon we all may be familiar with, but perhaps don’t quite know the mechanics of: “The Talk.”This is where you discuss the parameters of your relationship.
First, construction is key. The less, the better. Many people make the mistake of overloading with emojis, bulking to compensate for confidence. Trust yourself and believe in your sauce. You don’t need extra dressing. You’re a snack, a whole meal and the offer of your company is a gift—your presence is a present and they can kiss your ass if they don’t appreciate it, to paraphrase a well-known scholar.
Second, be direct. Take control of the situation so your target has little space to manipulate it. “You free in an hour?” is different from “You free to talk in an hour?” The latter is powerful—you’re coming from a position of strength. This is about your desire. “You free in an hour?” comes from a place of need that most boys love to play with. “You free in an hour?” could lead to a “Maybe,” which might lead to a “What you mean maybe? You don’t want to talk?” and then he says, “About what?” A mess. We want to avoid that. Go in incisively. Don’t let these boys run you mad, my sisters.
Once you’re talking, be clear about what you want. If that’s a relationship, be honest. If it’s something else, be clear about that too. You’re not going into this for negotiation, you’re going into this forclarification.If he finds your terms unreasonable, that’s absolutely fine, it means he clearly is not the one for you.
Finally, sisters, go forth with the knowledge that you are the shit and you’re not about to take shit. Whether he wants a relationship with you or not, that still stands.
Thank you for spending time with me this evening, it’s been a pleasure and, until next time, stay sweet.
Yours always,
K.
I pounded my fist against Aminah’s door furiously. “Aminah! Wake up!! 999!!!”
Aminah opened her room door, bare faced, hair wrapped in a silk scarf, and eyes wide as she wrapped her fluffy dressing grown around herself. “Ah ah! What happened? Did Beyoncé drop an album?!”
“No! This is a bad 999!” I shoved my phone in Aminah’s face, and her confusion melted into a slow smirk as she scanned the screen, reading the text out loud: “You about?”
Aminah’s smile widened. She leaned against her door frame, took my phone, and peered closer at the text as if it could reveal more to her upon further inspection, eyes flashing wickedly. “Malakai really sent you a ‘You up?’ text. Spicy!”
I’d been careful in keeping it strictly business in my first message and Malakai just jumped in with a “You up?” text? Seemed pretty brazen to me. I couldn’t understand why Aminah didn’t comprehend how bizarre this situation was. She was smiling entirely too much and assiduously ignoring the fact that I was freaking out. The fact that her grin kept getting increasingly wider implied that she wasenjoyingme freaking out.
Aminah laughed as I snatched my phone back from her. “Look, he’s taking the initiative to get to know you in a regular way. Nothing wrong with that. Besides, don’t you have to be comfortable with each other to pretend to be a couple for two months?”
The validity of her point was inconvenient. “Fine, yes, sure, but this is how he wants to get to know me? You don’t think this is kind of overly familiar?”
“You literally have had the boy’s tongue in your mouth.”
“Notwithstanding—”
“Notwithstanding?”
“Why is he asking me to hang out through the construct of a booty text? At eleven thirtyp.m.? He couldn’t ask me out for a coffee? I told you he was a Wasteman. I mean ‘You about?’ Who even says that?”
Aminah bit her bottom lip in a way that looked suspiciously close to her restraining a laugh. “Uh, someone who wants to know if you’re about, innit. It’s sexy.”
I grunted, rolled my eyes, and walked out of the fluorescent industrial lights of our flat hallway, pushing into her warm, lamp-lit room, ushered in with the comforting scent of coconut oil, designer fragrance, and the sound of Drake murmuring from her speakers, as I said, “You’re not taking this seriously.”
Aminah walked in after me and watched me sit on her plush pink beddings, hugging a fluffy fuchsia pillow to my chest. “I think you’re taking ittooseriously.”
I shook my head. “I can’t deal with this. I have a stress headache. Also, I think I’m getting sick. I’m sweaty. My palms are sweaty. The inside of my stomach feels sweaty.”
Aminah nodded and sat next to me, pressing the back of my hand against my forehead. “Poor baby. Did the sickness start the second he texted you?”
“What? Maybe? I don’t know. I didn’t look at thetime—”
“You’re nervous, Keeks.”
I lifted my head up from the pillow I had been squeezing and stared at her. “About what?”
