Corn Rows of Terror

I remember visiting a friend near downtown Dallas a few weeks ago for some laughs, food, and wine. She is a flight attendant, one of the best, I might add -- funny, perky, and her soul radiates with purity. I always enjoy stopping by her loft to hang out from time to time.

This particular November day, I stopped by with one of my best friends, who is also a flight attendant. We talked about the Janet Jackson concert I went to the previous month. It had been my first concert ever, and I've always had this strange woman-crush for Janet... so it was the best "Christmas gift" ever. Anyway, as the liquor started flowing, the conversation got looser and looser -- which doesn't take long anyway. This lady is like the Golden Fag Hag, so she has a knack for getting you to loosen up without the booze.

It was then that we started talking about what some simply term, "Black talk". The names of Black actors, actresses, and singers started flying around like sacks of peanuts -- and mind you, the friend that came with me is as white as a ghost. In fact, his skin would blister if you turned on a light bulb. I've never been good with pinning names to songs, or engaging in entertainment talk.... and it subconsciously serves to remind me of how "white" I appear to be in some people's eyes when I can't keep up with "Black talk".

I've heard it all before, about how I sound white; about how I've never had corn rows; about how preppy, J.Crew boy-wanna-be I dress sometimes; about how I dance like a white boy until I drink a few cocktails and have everyone laughing with life; and on this particular day -- when a Black lady friend of hers joined us later on -- she pointed to my pasty friend and added:

"Girl, he is blacker than Kevin."
-Golden Fag Hag

Ugh, it was like throwing down a gauntlet. I wanted to suddenly grow these killer Jensen Atwood corn rows of terror. Yes, then I could lash out with some fly-ass urban gear that would somehow, ridiculously cook my inner child to match my well-done skin color. I felt somehow inadequate, but at least I can breathe a sigh of relief when I answer correctly that BET stands for Black Entertainment Television. I didn't look that up before pouring my soul out in the blog... honest!

Gee, it makes me wonder if the men I date have such night-and-day vision about how I'm supposed to look, act, and even smell because I have dark skin. I dread the possibility that after all of these years, people still summarize one's story by looking at the book cover. What was the deeper message in that particular conversation? What, if anything, was my Golden Fag Hag trying to get across? Hmmmmph... perhaps just harmless banter. No matter what, the bottom line is, this is the Kevin she'll always get.... and she knows. She smiles. She pours her 80-proof charm into my glass once again.