Wait, he's not black?!

Gather round, boys and girls, and let me tell you a story of mistaken identity. One full of the mysteries of the Wild Wild West, gun fights, whorehouses, lots of tobacco and rotten teeth.


Okay, maybe not all of that, but definitely mistaken identity. I met my boyfriend at work almost 2 years ago, by complete accident: I was simply standing in the elevator, waiting for the doors to close and he caught my eye. I immediately became excited because I had just broken up with a creep that happened to be my neighbor a few months earlier, and I was ripe for a booty-call. Also, I was a virgin and very, very horny.

Anywho! I sprinted out of the elevator, name-tag flapping in the wind and rushed back to my area, where my co-worker was.

"Oh my gaaawwwd," I gasped, partly because Boyfriend was so hot and partly because I've always been about 10 pounds overweight, "I just saw the most amazing looking guy!" My co-worker glanced over at me with raised eyebrows, and said a few things to the guy she was on the phone with (one of her many baby-daddies, no lie).

"Who?"

"This light-skinned black guy from upstairs in the men's department (I worked in a clothing store)!" Co-worker immediately got excited and tried to convince me to say something to him. She, along with another co-worker, had been trying to help me get laid for about 7 months, with no hope in the horizon. So, the fact that I had a potential penis prospect was promising (try saying that 7 times).

Co-worker (who, mind you, was about 33) straightened her back, put on her determined face and went upstairs to check out the hottie. On her way back down, she informed me, "Girl, he's not black! He's Italian!"

"What?!" I said, surprised. "He's not black?"

"Naw girl," my co-worker said, laughing and getting back on the phone.

For the next two weeks, I made sly glances and sudden appearances in his apartment. I have a thing for hair--it's one of my many weird fetishes. And Boyfriend was as hairy as they come while still looking clean. He had this incredible, thick and long curly hair that was pulled back into a pony tail, olive skin, a neatly trimmed beard, and he (at the time) worked out, so his was quite fit. I also made friends with his sister, who was a spitting image of him with boobs (I don't know if that's a compliment or not...). After a while, I told her I was interested in him, and she passed along the message.

It is also VERY IMPORTANT to note that during the scoping out period, everyone guess what nationality he was. I received Mexican, Black-n-White, Indian, the list goes on and on.

The full story is too long for a blog, but I will say that my friends had to approve, and one day all 10 of them (boyfriends included) decided to make an appearance in his department, giggling and pointing. Awkward on a cold platter, anyone?

Finally, I made my way over to him head on, looking like the Chocolate Diva that I am. The first thing out of my mouth was, "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

He leaned over his counter expectantly. "Yes?"

"....can I touch your hair?"

He looked crushed for a moment and nodded. I felt up his hair follicles for a moment and then said, "Can I ask you another question?"

He nodded mutely and I asked him out for coffee, which he accepted immediately.


And that, kids, is the story of how we met. Tomorrow, I'll continue on our journey with introductions of his mother, his father, and just how scary a close-knit family can be.