We be Negros, now get away from me…

The past day or so has been personally challenging for me, I am going through my monthly leave me the fuck time of month, work has been crazy and we have family visiting from 2000 miles away. The sort of shit that makes a sista just want to scream.  So this morning, I called one of my good sista friends who lives not far away, and told her she needed to scoop a sista up for breakfast before I lost my mind this morning and snapped on everyone up in this beyotch which I would figured would be bad form when the in-laws are visiting. After a decade of officially being in the family, I suspect they still think I am bit out there but hey its all good.

So when my girl rolled up, I decided we should go eat at the local spot I eat at every Friday, they make a mean breakfast burrito sans meat plus I had my bottle of Thai hot sauce in my purse since I was ready for eggs and heat. (note: does anyone other than a Black woman carry hot sauce in her bag?) The particular place we were headed is a place I have been eating at for years, the folks that work there almost border on being friends, they are cool folks, of course being in Maine, they are white, but shit they cook right, so that is all that matters when my tummy is growling.

Anyway T & I pull up and walk into the spot, I ask the waitress if she can still hook me up with breakfast since I knew breakfast was ending, she was like “Black girl for you no problem” So me and T sit down and I am ready to order. Now in case you haven’t figured out T is Black like me, we rarely get together because our schedules never mesh but we have the type of relationship that if one of us needs something we are there for the other. All this to say, we rarely are in the same place at the same time.

Well apparently it was the day for fools to look us up and down, I admit I was oblivious since I was just sipping my coffee but T who actually lives in the same town as the Bush family was like “why all these folks looking like they crazy” so I look up and sure enough I see a big homey white woman walking towards a sista, talking about my hair…. I am too tired to get too detailed but next thing I knew she is asking me about my hair and how I do it, then her husband gets in on the action and next thing you know these strange ass white folks is touching a sista’s locs. Noooooooo. The waitress is looking mortified, she is a bit of a roughneck so she tries to intervene, mind you I am already having a bad day.

Now nobody got hurt and I did end up having my breakfast and blowing off steam but not before the adult child of the two nimrods apologized profusely on behalf of her parents. After the dust settled my girl says to me that knowing my temper, she was surprised at how calm I was, truth is so was I. I hate people touching me and I hate people touching my locs even more especially since they were partially covered. That said, I knew it was the time and place to just be chill because I was already so mad this morning that had I snapped at the bumbling white folks, well.. a sista might not be writing this at the moment since I would be at the county lock-up and that’s no joke.

Getting old is teaching me when to let some things go and this was one of those times, but damn, yes I am Black, I have dreadlocks and yes I live here in town and I do know the family that runs this joint, so get the hell away from me, you crazy ass mofo.

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