02
Nov
09

The Wing Standard

The other night, my beautiful friend, Nicole, had a small get together at Marvin to commemorate yet another year of her life on this planet.  As is usually the custom on Monday nights in the U corridor, the venue was filled to capacity with all the right people.  There, in an atmosphere ripe for celebration, convened a gathering of the District’s usual blipster-ish suspects. Everyone was spectacularly attired in their colorful, uber chic clothes, with their signature one of a kind, vintage accessories, dancing and chilling at varying intervals. I’d determined to go out, but not to drink. I had work the next day. I would stand stoically on my platform of abstinence and sobriety. I had work the next day. I would be good.

Around my third glass of wine, I found myself talking shit on the patio with my friends. The topic was nothing of particular import, and I decided to take a lap around the rooftop. On my way back, a man, from out of nowhere, approached me, and said:  “Girl, you so beautiful. You so gorgeous. “  He’d whispered it harshly in my ear, and I was slightly taken aback. Now, maybe you’re thinking this was a wonderful and complimentary thing to say to a woman.  And you know what, maybe you’re right. But it was the way he’d said it. It was so abrasive.  Like he’d engaged me in verbal flattery combat. 

And he’d gotten so close to me when he said it. Like, the heat from his heavy breath literally lingered mournfully on the outer upper cartilage of my ear. I stumbled back to my friends, and repeated the tale, and we all laughed, but, something inside of me knew, that the night was not over for me and this man.

As the air grew more chilly on the patio, we all hedged closer and closer to the heated portion of the rooftop.  I’m not certain what I was wearing, but I know it was probably powerfully short  (I recently awoke from a roughly 10 year nothing-above-the-knee coma, and suddenly was allergic to any going out clothes that didn’t slightly to overtly resemble women’s underwear).  As I was walking, I heard, “There she is.” I recognized the voice, immediately, as belonging to my ear-cartilage assailant from before. Though I braced myself, nothing could prepare me for what was to follow. 

My ear-marauder spoke:  “Hey girl. You so beautiful. You so gorgeous.  Come over here and talk to us for a second.  Come ‘ere. We got some chicken wings.” (pronounced “wangs,” but of course, you knew that).

And with one simple statement, my whole world, and indeed, every understanding I’d ever had of this world, exploded into an infinite number of confetti-like pieces all over the rooftop of Marvin.

We-got-some-chicken-wings.

Now, I’d be remiss if I didn’t share with you my initial thoughts on this gentleman-suitor’s approach. Sadly, I am ashamed to report that I took the predictable, and indeed, bourgeois road, and mentally rebuffed his offer with a stern, “DIDTHISBLACKSONOFABITCH JUST OFFERME A PLATE OFCHICKENWINGS????” And you know what I did? I walked away.

Yes.

I walked away.

It has been over a week since that night. And much has happened.  I caught a cold. I was stuck inside my home for a week.  I cleaned out my refrigerator,  only to find,  after  the dust from the open bag of flour settled, and the multiple cans of old condensed milk had been thrown out, that, I didn’t have anything in my house to eat.

Not a motherfucking thing.

I thought to myself, “If I had a boyfriend, he could go and grab me a cup of soup;  maybe even a burrito bowl from Chipotle.”  And then, suddenly, it hit me.  Where was the ear-cartilage pillager, now?  Where was that poetic raper of hearing vessels? That man, that stranger, had offered me food, and I’d played him.  I’d played him cold. I’d scorned him in my mind’s eye, and laughed at him with my friends.

And when you think about it, women are always complaining about the men who approach them. I know I do. I grow tired of the standard D.C. model.  The man out in his best sports jacket and fancy jeans. The man who is so pressed to hand you his business card and tell you what he does for a living, and how important he is. The man who wants to buy you drinks, not because you’re thirsty, but so you can see how much of a baller he is. In all my days, never has this man, no matter how immaculately attired, no matter how put together, no matter how beautiful the calligraphy on his business card—never ever has this man offered me a plate of wings. 

And why the hell not?

I’m out. I’m drinking. I’m dancing. It stands to reason, that I am hungry as a motherfucker.  I mean, everyone knows, as my friend, Nicky, once said, that “drunk girls are some hungry animals.”

I say all this, because, as of today, I’m applying a new standard. The Wing Standard.  Here’s how I envision it working:

Gentleman-suitor: “Can I buy you a drink?”

Me: “I’ll have a plate of wings, please.”

Or…

Gentleman-suitor: “We’re all getting shots. What do you want.”

Me: “Wings.”

Or…

Gentleman-suitor: “So, it’s late. Can I give you a ride home?”

Me: “Man, please. Don’t even try to act like you bought me some wings, tonight.”

Of course, as a woman, I’ll similarly relate this standard to my friends, and interject it whenever necessary during the course of our date post mortems. Note:

Me:  “Girl, how was your date with Johnny the other night? What was he talking about? “

Friend, *dejected sigh.* “It was okay, I guess.”

Me: “Girl, what’s wrong? PLEASE TELL ME, he bought you wings. Please tell me he bought you wings.”

Friend: “Girl, I dropped so many hints, but wouldn’t you know it? Never once did that bastard offer me a wing.”

Me: “ Girl, fuck him. You’re better than that.”

The Wing Standard, people. Coming to a bar or lounge near you.

There is, of course, the small matter of me not eating meat…

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3 Responses to “The Wing Standard”


  1. 1 tee tos
    November 3, 2009 at 2:37 pm

    Hhahahahaha…….”what typa man is YOU? you aint even offer me no chicken wangs! you aint a man. you’s a BAMA!”

  2. 2 Theodore Smoov
    May 19, 2010 at 5:36 pm

    Hey baby. You so beautiful… Can I offer you an antacid?

  3. June 12, 2010 at 4:17 am

    LMAO!!!! THis is hilarious!!!


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a history of my meanderings….

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