Black Women's Improvement Project (BWIP)

Erhm…Aside from Race, Who You Scurred to Take Home?

This here in the pic is who me and The Hubster like to call “Irish Pirate” because, well, he’s Irish, with a real accent and everything, and as you can see, he dresses funny, and carries a knife about as long as a banana but waaay sharper. He runs the orchard where we do our yearly apple picking/rape-by-fruit to pay $10 a bag for what we could buy at the store for $4.00. I suppose we’re paying for the ambiance, what with the intermingling smells and stench of ripe and rotten apples.

Did I mention the $10 in which you must pick your OWN CUSS-EN APPLES is 1/3 the size of one of those eco-friendly bags you’re supposed to bring to the grocery store instead of forcing the bag boys to use the ones that trap baby seals?

There’s also the added bonus of tearing a chunk out of your flesh with the unfinished iron “sculptures” in which to pose for future Christmas cards.

But back to Irish Pirate. As…strange as he may look, he’s quite charming. Without that ridiculous hat, he’s got long, thick gray hair that he wears in a ponytail, he’s in rather good shape for a old dude, and his accent is TO DIE. But…

Which got me to wondering about the guys I’d dated who I would NEVER, under ANY circumstances, would bring home to meet anyone in my house–not even the cat, that would probably have passed on dragging him in.

Would you, could you, date a dirty Irish Pirate?

Just a question.

A lot of you are dipping your toes into the swirling sea and I wonder, how “different” would you go? Aside from the melanin mix, what about other stuff? I mean, I would never date someone with a tattoo on the side of his neck, and I don’t care how sexy he could make it look when he tweaked it. Best you not either, because anyone who gets a neck tattoos is either independently wealthy and owns a string of tatt parlors, or he’s not ever planning to have a job, like, ever.

And call me a prude if you want, but I do NOT think earrings of any kind on a man is hot. Especially the ones that make your earlobes stretch wide enough so my two-year-old could cut it off with Irish Pirate’s knife and wear it for a bracelet.

I mean, I’m a pretty conservative gal who married and even more conservative guy. Yes, he’s white. But he wasn’t white and strange.

And be “strange” I don’t mean to offend any Irish. I mean, “strange” in the sense that the dude is the polar opposite of you.

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