The Eager Easter Bummy: Why We’re Too Grown to Be the Backup to the Backup
Yesterday, I attended an Easter event in London and, as always, I went in with open vibes and low expectations. Why? Because when it comes to Black events in London, you never know if you’re walking into your future or a fresh batch of f-boy foolishness.
First things first—credit where credit’s due. Shout out to Burlocks off Bond Street. Their food? 10/10. Drinks? Flowing. Vibes? Definitely vibing. Even the music—though eclectic—had us all doing the two-step. And yes, I did belt out Never Gonna Give You Up like a Rick Astley groupie in denial. It’s fine, we all have our guilty pleasures.
But this isn’t about the music. This is about a certain character I met that I have since dubbed The Eager Easter Bummy. Because while the event was giving Easter joy, he was giving… relocation readiness.
We’ve all had our fair share of drunken encounters, but this one was moving like I was supposed to pack a weekend bag and move into his rented studio by Sunday. Sir, please. Just because you’re a fan of the ancestral curves gifted to me by my East and Southern African lineage doesn’t mean I owe you anything. Appreciate the art without trying to install yourself in the gallery.
Let’s break it down. He was young. Not just in age but in energy. You know the ones—chest puffed out, full of chat, no clue what grown women actually want. He starts talking, I humour him. Then he gets in his feelings, all “Why wouldn’t we work out?”
Oh sweetie, where do I begin?
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The Age Gap – Fifteen years. That’s seven years too many. I’ve got plants older than your last serious relationship.
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Back-up to the Back-up – Not only did he try chatting me up, but he also made attempts with two other women in front of me. I’m not the consolation prize, fam. Never have been. Never will be.
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Homophobia – We don’t do that here. It’s 2025 and if you’re still pressed about how other people love, you’re not ready for a Chelsea-certified Queen.
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Commute Dating – He lives more than 45 minutes away. I’m not waking up in someone’s Zone 6 flat for a 2am booty call. My Uber bill is not a love language.
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Different Intentions – I’m looking for something real. Long-term. Something I don’t have to recover from emotionally every other Sunday. He’s looking for… well, cheeks. A full-time peach enthusiast.
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The Bedroom Talk – He tells me he’s into choking and spanking. I told him I’m into sleep and food. Let’s just say our kinks don’t align.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love a good flirt and the occasional saucy chat. But this? This was a whole lesson in what not to accept just because you’re single at an event with free rum punch.
So to The Eager Easter Bummy, I say this: thank you for the laughs, but I’m grown, rested, and disinterested in playing step-mum to your ego.
Dating in London as a Black woman is already exhausting. We don’t need the added emotional labour of explaining why wanting more isn’t a crime. So yes, I declined the offer and moved on. Because this Easter, I’m choosing peace over penis. Again.
Happy Easter to all the bummies, babes, and boundary-setters out there.
Keep your head high, your heels higher, and your Uber app closed to anything that doesn’t serve your peace.
With love,
Chelsea XOXO
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© Chelsea Black® 2025
