Recently, my significant other dropped by to share a revelation. He was out with his homie, a woman, and then her girls showed up. They get to chatting, seemingly forgetting that he is present, or maybe the margaritas made them not care. Anyway, one of them says: “I’m good on all-night long stroking. My man can give me five great minutes, and as long as I cum, I’m fine.”
He, my man, stops talking, and I stare at him silently, waiting for him to get to the good part. But, then I realize that all women not wanting marathon sex every time is supposed to be it. Oh. You know, between this and Congressman Akin, I should really learn not to be surprised at the things men don’t know about women when it comes to sex or sexual anatomy. But I am.
And I guess they’re equally surprised at the things we don’t know too. Like say, you know, that one time when you and your late twenty-something/ early thirty-something boo who is supposed to be in his sexual prime went on that amazing weekend getaway, when he did that thing you like all night, then again the next day, and when you asked him to do it again, just one more time before you left, and he complied, with no problem? Yeah … he was probably on Viagra.
Have you seen this cartoon? It’s been making the rounds on social media, at least among my uber-educated, well-connected circles, and surely yours as well. I ignored it the first time I saw it, rolled my eyes the second, and when a “friend” who I respect and thought knew better added it to her status update and declared herself a “’70s lady,” I finally decided to address it.
Um…. What it implies is bull$#@!. Earlier this year, I was on a 17-hour flight back from South Africa and killed time watching Woody Allen’s “Midnight in Paris,” which won Best Original Screenplay at the 2012 Academy Awards. Loosely, it’s about a guy (Owen Wilson) who idolizes the past and (whoops! )stumbles back in time to a period he thinks is superior. There, he meets this woman from that prior time who has also stumbled back to the era before her own and thinks that it is even better. It’s a cycle. By the end of the film, Wilson’s character realizes that there’s no time like the present, and he might as well make the most of the time he has.
That is the same point I’d like to make here. No disrespect to my mother’s heyday, or for some of the ladies reading, your granny’s. I’m sure there were lovely women galore, and I don’t mean to denigrate anyone in any way. But to pretend that the women of one era were so far superior and the values of all black women now have gone to hell in a Louis Vuitton hand basket (because we’re all sooo materialistic) is crap. That’s it. Crap.