Ya’ll wanna hear my ratchet dating story… well I’mma tell ya anyway.

So I was out in these streets being courted. (yeah, that’s a better word for going on a date…and it actually is way better than a date, but I digress) and we were in the car, in a state, headed to an undisclosed location (mind ya business, don’t be too nosey). I was given control of the music that we would listen to. (I know right, such a major responsibility)…but let me back up…

I love all kinds of music: country, gospel, hip-hop, rhythm and blues, etc. I haven’t been home in months and I really missed the 843 (area code of my hometown), and had been specifically missing MY music.  So when I got the control of DA MUSIC, I decided I was going to play some of my Chucktown get-down songs (mind you the person I am on a date with has probably never been around the 843 or exposed to this music, so I’m basically representing the dirty South right now). So out of all the songs I could have selected,  I play…..wait for it.

“If ya babymamma real she will tell ya dat she love me” and “Last call for alcohol” and “Clappery.”

I know ya’ll are like, really?! You played that? Yes, I did. I did. But…it gets worse.

Ya’ll I was getting it too— jigging all in the passenger seat. I forgot where I was, started reminiscing  and ya’ll couldn’t tell me I wasn’t in the hole in the wall at 11pm with my mama texting my phone telling me to get my behind home cuz I’m not grown and that If I am  not home within 30 minutes, she is gonna tell my Grandma on me….. so when I come down off my ratchet high I realized it was real quiet. Like all you hear is the hum of the car quiet.

I thought, I shoulda just played some Alicia Keys or Lauryn Hill. You know something woke but not too crazy. When folks hear that, they tend of think you are a certain kind of Black folk. (Clutches my imaginary pearls, puts prayer cloth over my lap, and insert other things that mid-upper class Black folks supposedly do). In my mind, I’m like: I just exposed my ratchet. This person is probably like what in the world just happened. So, I was over the silence,  panicked and said, “My bad. I know you’re not used to that music.”

He paused and responded, “I liked it. Yeah, I liked the baby mama real song. I’m glad to know you were comfortable enough to be yourself.” Bahahahahahahaha all I’m saying is the Chucktown just gained another loyal customer of the music. I’m about to make him a Charleston mixtape… and if you don’t like my music, step. Go listen to Bach and jazz and quartet music with someone else. My roadtrip music is always something crunk. I gotta stay up.

Moral of the story: Be You. We’re not one dimensional, folks and if a person can’t appreciate all sides of you, then he or she ain’t the one.

Now, go be great because I said so.