A situation that took place yesterday kind of starts out the way the guy from the barbershop in Coming to America tells his story about meeting Dr. Martin Luther, the kang.
Clarence: “One day, I was walking down the street, just walking along, feeling good. I walk around a corner, A man walk up, hit me in the chest. I fall on the ground, right. And I look up and it’s Dr. Martin Luther King. I said ‘Dr. King?’ and he said ‘Ooops, I thought you were some body else.’ ”
Sweets: Oh man, you lyin’. You ain’t never met Martin Luther the King.
Clarence: Knocked the wind out of me, yes he did.
Sweets: No, he didn’t.
Clarence: Yes, he did.
Sweets: No, he did not!
Well. No, someone did not hit me in the chest after I walked around the corner, but it felt that way. And I was left feeling like the wind was knocked out of me, just the same.
I was rushing off to the metro near my job, to meet up with friends in DC after work. I looked great, felt great, like my friend Clarence and all of a sudden, I hear a man cat-calling me.
I’m grown. I aint got time for that. So then, the voice yells my name.
I twist around to see where this is coming from.
Lo and behold, it’s Kyle Barker.
Damn. Dressed like Harrison from Scandal (Always has. He’s been wearing gingham dress shirts for ages. I joke with him and call them picnic basket and graph paper shirts), looking so good and smiling that million dollar smile.
Oh he has a great smile.
So, I smile say hello. He asks me what I’m doing here and I tell him that I work nearby. He’s shocked because basically he works in the building across the street from me. He asks me how long have I been working in that building, and I tell him rolling my eyes, six years.
So we laugh at the coincidence. He asks me where I am going and tells me to hop in and allow him to drop me off to the metro. He has to switch out of the turning lane to get back toward the Metro, but he does. As we get closer, I tell him where he can drop me and he says, no, he wants to wait for another car to move out of the way to keep me in the car longer. I laugh him off and switch subjects.
I ask him if he’s still djaying and to let me know when he’s having the next gig. “Maybe I’ll grace the place with my face,” I said playfully.
“And your ass too?”
“And my ass too.”
He tells me he likes my hair and continues to look at me like a desert cart. I’m taking in the view myself. Damn, sir. Trying to fight instant flashbacks of old, naughty behavior, I’m calm, I’m cool. However if he saw or felt what was going on in my panties, I would have been a goner. My cover completely blown.
The sun was shining, I had on an amazing, super flattering Ann Taylor dress. It was, the peeerfect moment you pray for to have the man who pisses you off yet, curls your toes see you. I mean, I would have never calculated that moment for myself so well.
I was laughing at the irony. Kyle Barker hadn’t really crossed my mind. And BOOM. There he is.
But before I drifted into my primitive thoughts and had Ciara’s “Body Party” playing in my head on repeat, upon entering his vehicle, the smell of stale weed met me in his car. I had to laugh about that too. He’s fine, he’s smart, he’s educated and has a good job, but him and that damn weed.
I used to smell it on him and taste it on his lips, back in the day. But I didn’t care, not one frigging bit. He put it all the way down.
I was having an Olivia Pope moment. He’s my Fitz. He’s my Mr. Big. No matter where I go, or what I do, I can’t seem to escape his draw. The magnatism.
He makes me primitave. It’s intense, the desire. He’s no good.
We’ve gone over this numerous times on this blog. No good. But uh, uh, uh. He’s fine.
So we make a little more small talk, I keep it short. Got places to be. I bid him adieu. So he purposely says the corny line, like, “I hate to see you leave, but I love seeing you walk away.”
I laughed, and casually said, “Thanks for the ride, darlin.” And stomped off like a true G.
And like a true G, I never turned around to look back at him in the car.
Yes, hunty! Go in and let have! I was giving it everythang, strutting to the Metro like he didn’t phase me. (Inside, I wanted to straddle him in the car. I need Jesus. For real.)
Oh rapturous fabulousness!
And in honor of our ridiculous fauxlationship, Wale’s Bad. Shout out to Olivia and Fitz and Olivia and Jake… Bad girl…
Since I mentioned Body Party, why not?