I set forth a challenge, knowing full well that he wouldn’t reach the goal but also knowing that he would try his damndest to make sure he tried. Wasn’t about the goal…was about the effort…but I can’t tell him that because that would be too close to making sense…and we all know how men and common sense don’t always walk hand-n-hand. Plus this way, he had motivation to persevere…and I get to see what skills and imagination he is working with…So I say…
"If you think you can, move me…”
He didn’t get it…hell, most don’t get the shit I say. Starting to think if I talk in riddles or maybe I speak the same way that I read and write…dyslexic.
"I don’t get it Bloop, what do you mean?"
"Moooove me muthafucka!…" *I’m good for calling a muthafucka, a muthafucka…when he’s acting like a damn muthafucka*
"Make me want you around…say, do something that moves me…deep inside of me…that makes me want to call out your name when I am alone.”
"Ooooh, I get it now. Hell, you should have said that to begin with!”
"I didn’t know I had to hold your hand at 40 something years old… just saying.”
He gave me a look that let me know I was reaching my threshold of shit talking…
I cussed at him one more time…in my head...for good measure. Good thing this muthafucka can’t read minds. Just sayin’, again.
I find that I am actually too much for myself to handle…no wonder these men aren’t doing a good job at it either. I’m too much…of something…and not enough of a little. But then again, I know when I am being all types of persnickety for the sake of persnicketing. I don’t claim to make sense all the time…or some of the time…but every now and then, oh yeaaahh…I make all kinds of sense.
He got it, even if I had to show him how to add 1 + 1…he eventually got to 2.
…and so it begins…