Put a Ring on It: Why I’m Not Single, and You Are

Dear Ladies,

I am married.

In fact, I am quite happily married. When my husband met me, I was 26, lived in a sparsely furnished 2 bedroom townhouse, an unemployed full time grad student (rent paid by a fellowship) and the single mother of a 7 year old boy. I drove a busted ass 1999 Alero that had a steering wheel held together with duct tape and my car radio consisted of a hole with a bunch of exposed wires. I got by, by bartering with my EBT card and fixing resumes. When I met my husband, he was employed full time as a manager for a Fortune 100 company. He owned 4 houses, his own business, an impressive stock portfolio and his credit score was (and still is) immaculate. His car not only had an intact steering wheel and radio, but was fully paid for. He is also 2.5 years my junior.

We often encounter people of the opposite sex who are – to put this delicately – out of our leagues, or “on another level.” But whether that level is beneath you or above you is irrelevant. There are no “leagues.” Tiger Woods married the fucking babysitter. Star Jones married a gay man. Point is, you’re single, and if you’re a woman, then I can bet you’re single and you don’t want to be. Maybe you’ve never been anywhere, maybe you’re on some blunts and bullshit, maybe you decided to go to school, become valedictorian of your class, graduated, started a school in Africa and a multimedia empire and looked up and realized you.are.still.single. (Oprah knows I’m talking to her).

I hear the squawking. “I don’t need no man, cluck cluck cluck.” “I can raise my kids by myself cluck cluck cluck.” “There aren’t any good men out there! Squawk!” And frankly, I’m unimpressed. I know the truth. And what you don’t realize is that THEY know the truth, too. They know it and they use it against us. So allow me to impart a few words of wisdom (in no particular order, as each one as important as the next) so that you, too, can stop fronting and get off your sad, single, why-can’t-i-find-a-good-man train, and get like me.

•Read. Sun Tzu wrote a book called The Art of War. Its 4000 years old, and starts off with Sun Tzu cutting the heads off some concubines because they were being silly instead of listening to what the fuck he had to say. Don’t let that be you.
I also recommend Robert Green’s The 48 Laws of Power. These books were written about war, which is just an unfortunate manifestation of man’s innate drive for domination and domination’s opposite, submission. You need to be fluent in both domination and submission. It ain’t a game, son. Love is psychological warfare.

•Learn how to cook. I’m already annoyed that I even had to SAY that, but there are many trifling, non cooking heauxs out there. I’m not saying you need to be MacGyver in the kitchen, but a good pot of spaghetti will get him right. In fact, it’s not just cooking. Learn how to clean, too, you nasty whores. Do you honestly keep your maxi pads in plain view? Can you at least wrap them in a tissue before you throw them away? See why he didn’t want to spend the night?

•STFU. I think this is pretty self explanatory. There’s no science to shutting up. He’s not listening to you because if he had to listen to you every time you opened your mouth, he could NEVER DO ANYTHIING ELSE. STFU.

•GET YOUR HEAD GAME RIGHT. I had no intention of typing that in all caps but I accidently hit the caps lock. Then it occurred to me that I should probably leave it that way. If you don’t do it, prepare yourself for a life of loneliness and misery cause once he finds out you don’t do it, he will find someone who will and leave you at home with your cats. And if you DO do it, be sure to check with your man to make sure you’re doing it right. I know far too many men who are suffering through bad head because they’re just happy to be here. Don’t treat his junk like corn on the cob. Wrap your lips around your teeth and suck, ladies. Bad head won’t get you to where you want to be (like me, remember?).

•Be a woman. This simple sentence encompasses so many things. Don’t act like a man, or more specifically, a nigga. Thug dudes who like butch chicks are only masking homosexual tendencies. They don’t give a fuck about going to jail because that’s the only place man on man sex is socially acceptable. So if he likes your crotch grabbing, neck tats and amazing ability to chug dark liquor, then he might like shake weights and skechers step ups, too. Point is, men don’t want to have to compete for Head of Household status with you. Tuck your nuts and sit your ass down somewhere.

And please, grow the fuck up. Don’t run around here telling your girlfriends all his business, tweeting about how yo baby daddy ain’t shit, and fighting girls in the club because they were “looking at you funny.” Who told you broads physical violence and property damage were cute? Don’t you know the club ain’t the real world? In the real world these are crimes, and people go to jail and get sued for committing crimes. Don’t you watch Judge Mathis?

This basically boils down to knowing your place. You KNOW when you’re not the only one, not the MAIN one, or not even in the running. Know your place and act accordingly, with class and grace.

These lessons were hard learned, this knowledge not easily earned. We all have been a friend with benefits, a girlfriend, someone’s heaux, a “friend,” an ex girlfriend who he still sleeping with, a baby mama, a jump off, a little secret, a beard (can’t fix that one for ya!), a stalker, the one being stalked, and even fiancés. And shit, this advice might not even work for you. You STILL might not get wifed*. My boy El Jugo said, “Everybody ain’t able.” But for those of you who are, go forth and get a damn ring on it.

*Theses suggestions still apply after you get married. Don’t get lazy, whores.

Your Friend in the Struggle,

Klkenned

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