Recently, I’ve been getting hit on by the watchman at work. I try to remain friendly – I could need his help one day – but it reminds me of when I was younger, and I thought that I was doomed to be hit on by sketchy types all my life. I wrote the following during that time. Thankfully, my prospects have greatly improved, but I’m always wary of this trend resurfacing. What do you think affects the type of people who hit on you? Can you change who you attract?
There is definitely something wrong here. I’m young (only for so long darling), intelligent (I can do long division!), pretty (I have verbal confirmation of this from several sources including my mother and my best friend), and and in general quite a catch (if I do say so myself!). Then why in God’s name do I seem to attract only the most horrid of creatures?
I am on a campus full of smart, good looking men. So why are the only men who hit on me invariably dining hall workers and cleaners? I’m not trying to be a snob. If I were being hit on by an equal balance of i-bankers-in-the-making and street-sweeper types, I wouldn’t be complaining, really I wouldn’t! But this is getting a tad ridiculous. I say this because I just got hit on by not one, but two sketchballs within the space of an hour.
And to clarify, being hit on doesnt mean “Hi, pretty lady” which is a bit lame but is at least complimentary. It means “Hey sweet chocolate, can I be yo’ daddy?” “and “I need me some African goddess lovin’ ” accompanied by leers and smirks. The first guy was sweet, but the little English he knew I couldnt understand through his thick Mexican accent. I think I caught a couple of phrases, “baby you so sweet” and “you give me number yes?” enough to let me know I should get outta there pronto! Not half an hour later, I meet the second guy who actually showed me a picture of his daughter on his cell phone. As if being a single dad at 22 is supposed to be a selling point.
Come to think of it, I can trace this back several years. Even when I was at home, I remember the houseboy always giving me gifts like hibiscus flowers or a Cadbury eclair on Valentine’s day, and the Kenya Power guy who comes around to check the meter asking for my number just seconds after he cut our power, the bastard! There was the chain-smoking loser at the video rental place who wrote letters to me in high school. There was the former matatu conductor who managed to hide his previous career for most of the two weeks we “dated.” Finally, there was the 27 year old loser in my neighbourhood who never seemed to be able to answer the simple question “what do you do?”, was always around during the day, shot down any positive thing that happened to me, and thought it was ok to be kissing an 18 year old in front of her gate.
If I had known then that it was a trend that would dog me for years to come, perhaps I would have taken preventative measures. Because I’ve had my fair share of dating bums, thank you. I mean really. Its about time I met someone who’s got goals beyond making it to assistant manager at the local Subway. While I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m never going to marry Prince William (mostly because I’m black, but also because we’ve never been properly introduced) a girl is allowed to have some lofty ambitions, isn’t she? Isn’t she?! Isn’t she?!
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Maria is ever hopeful, and trying to attain furaha at furahaproject.blogspot.com