So maybe one of the problems with social media is that it has left a whole group of men with social constipation. Brothers with no game was once a cute web series about 20 somethings who were early day dating but now we’ve got 40 plus something year olds struggling to lyric? Come on son.
Take the other day. I left the relative joy of my garden to venture to a networking event. I’m chatting to a girlfriend and offer to buy her a drink. My round. As I’m at the bar African Rambo comes along, sweating in an after work suit that’s struggling to contain his love of jollof and fufu. He’s all up in her face about why is she letting a girl buy her a drink when he’s there to do it. She’s confused. Apparently we are back in the 50s and he’s the man of the event. As pools of sweat pool around his breast line he insists that he must rectify the wrong that has been done and buy her a drink. I come back. He growls at me, ape mans his dominance and then asks what I bought her. He then goes and buys her another one because there is no way he’s being undermined by me. They had met approximately 17 minutes ago. He’s staking his claim. She leaves. He then asks for my number. Wait what? Nah. He went home numberless and £4.20 cheaper.
No to the 90s
Then there’s another one who asks me how old I think he is. I say 40s and he looks hurt like I just told him it wasn’t the same lassie dog actor in the TV series. He says that he’s 42 but that he usually gets told younger. I Kanye shrug as he looks his age to me. He tells me that he didn’t know that Diana Ross sang I’m coming out until well after Puff Daddy sampled it. I squint at him and ask what music his parents played at home. He says Michael Jackson. I sigh.
We talk about the 90s and he says that nobody except him was into bums until Jay Lo. I gently explain that Sir Mix A Lot may have him beat and that Lo and Kar Krash aren’t really black He seems surprised by this revelation. He asks me if I like being curvy. I say I guess so but he insists. Nah, I mean are you comfortable in your body. Do YOU like your curves, I tell him I don’t understand the question. He’s licking his lips and his breathing is now pre coital. I rush back down to the bar. Next!
Yet another comes along who has the body of a 15 year old and the breath of a man with liver disease. He says he wants to do something together. I don’t think I can eat near that breath but then he’s talking about organising a group boat trip. Huh. I tell him not in August as it’s carnival month. He asks me which carnival. I tell him Notting hill. He seems surprised that it’s next month. He then explains that he’s from east London and although his parents are Caribbean he identifies as an east Londoner only. “So about this boat trip….” He breathes all of the toxic waste from his oesophagus onto my skin. My legs find themselves once more making it to the bar.
I blame social media. The engagement through text speak is easy enough but nobody knows how to be genuine anymore and just flirt nicely without the aggression of a troll being caught in a lie or an incel. And what’s with the general knowledge ignorance.
I tell my male friend about the direness of it all and he’s all nodding sagely at me. “Right? They should just ask, ‘What’s your safe word!’ “ aaWe both laugh. This is why we have male friends. To save us from the brothers with no game. The non search continues!
© Chelsea Black 2019