"Good evening, I'm Sugar Brown; dis here's da newz."
Top Story: Mid-Atlantic Corridor Slammed by Blizzard! VA Governor declares state of emergency...
that's right, people, the east coast is snowed in. so of course, i didn't go to work. instead i stayed home and cooked. and drank. and watched tv. bad, bad tv. (everybody gets a reality show these days, wtf?) and cleaned. and cooked some more.
after wearing my ass out, i finally sat down on the couch, and just as i felt myself dozing off, the phone rang. it was The Call.
you know that call. it's the call that you reserve for special occasions. well, not so much because it's "special" in the romantic sense. more like "break glass in case of emergency" type of special.
24" of snow and climbing. temps at negative hell. i'm out of things to cook and movies to watch. and i'm alone.
this is a mudderfackin emergency.
"hey baby, haven't heard from you in a wh.. huh? yeah i was just thinking maybe you should come ov...."
i had no sooner said "...ver" than he was at my door, grinning like a cheshire cat. whatever, he brought liquor. so in he came. i'd forgotten how sexy he is. 6'4, chocolate with a low fade. gotdayumn. but you know what i found more sexy than his idris elba smile? his hands. oh he has THEE most beautiful, manly hands.
*i'd better calm down.*
we talked. we ate. we drank. we laughed. we drank. we talked. we drank. and before you knew it, we'd forgotten all about the arctic diarrhea outside. all that remained was us. and the liquor. but mostly us. and after the 3rd go-round, as we lay on my 600-ct sheets, i found myself struggling to remember why i'd never gotten serious with allen. he was single, never married. straight as the crow's flight. sexy as all get-out. he doesn't have a college degree but he works with his hands. there's gotta be a catch somewhere.
wait, did i mention his hands? heaven give me strength. *swoon*
he started off as a contractor, then became foreman, then started his own contracting business. now he flips properties for a living, and still does some contractor work. i still make more than he does (i think), but money isn't the end-all for me. this man is motivated. and when he touches me... when he kisses me... when he smiles at me... my world is his oyster. there must be a catch. there was a time when i and my family would balk at the idea of me marrying an unlettered man. a man without a diploma had no future, was the consensus. but not allen. he had made his own destiny. defined his own future. so why didn't i get ser...
"you gon' think i invented sex..." a ringtone. loud. in the middle of my afterglow. whatinTHEEhayle?! suddenly, the flames on my vanilla scented yankee candles flickered more wildly. like an ominous spirit was blowing through. why is my perfect moment being interrupted right now? and why won't he turn off that damn ringer? "Allen! YOUR PHONE!"
he's reaching for his clothes.
the candlelight is dancing wildly now.
i think i'm gonna be sick.
that damn trey songz is blaring again.
wait, didn't he just answ...
i open my eyes to find myself on the couch. my house smells like fried catfish, not yankee candles. all the lights are off, except for the tv. i hate that damn trey songz video. howz a fuggin baby like him gonna claim he invented anything, let alone sex. getdafckouttahere. i remember why i stopped watching BET.
but then i find myself smiling. it was a nice fantasy. and it was good to see allen again. yeah, it was a dream, but allen is actually a real man. and he really is sexy as i described. and now i remember why i never got serious with him: allen will never be serious with any woman. including his current wife.
there's always a catch.
"i'm sugar brown; stay warm, and good night."