It was a nice summer Saturday afternoon and PathMark was the place to be! Girlies everywhere trying to get their carbs and calories all accounted for. Yours truly was buying ingredients to make some lasagna when I saw this ebony queen. She had the skin of Naomi Campbell, the smile of Lauren London, the walk like Ciara and a smooth grace like the late, great Aaliyah.

It seemed like I was living an episode from a TV show or something as our hands touched the same head of lettuce. She innocently giggles, while I still keep my hands on hers, feigning ignorance. “Excuse me,” she says, subtly laughing. Surprised, I say, “My bad, my bad!” I grab another head of lettuce and she asks why my “wife” isn’t doing the grocery shopping. I laugh and reassure her that there is no ring on my finger.

“Take my number,” she says, and without saying much, we exchanged the digits. Now… ladies, I know the grocery store is your free reign to look as jacked up as you want, but shawty was blessed with the physical, which only made what she wore that much better… even if it was jacked up! Mismatched flip-flops, a ‘Hello, Kitty,’ tank top, blue sweatpants and a dookie headwrap with a faint smell of Victoria Secret’s Very Sexy Dare coming from her person.

That’s cool after like… six months… but in the words of Maya Angelou, “If someone shows you who they are, believe them,” and honey dip had more in store for yours truly! A few days go by before she hits me up. She read my Don’t Lose Your Day Job blog at The Urban Daily and figured that a party and me go together like ham and cheese. The now-defunct Lotus was the spot and I really don’t dig it like most do, but my mojo was right and I was game for a good time with my chocolate joy. When I saw her, homegirl looked fierce with a yellow summer dress, hair done up right, jewelry and smell good to set off her six inch heels!

Shawty wasn’t even “shawt” to begin with!

Starting out at 5’10″, this lady could now be the starting point guard for the New York Liberty with how she’s looking! …And here I am looking like a black Tattoo from Fantasy Island standing next to this Wonder Woman lookin’ ass broad. But confidence is key in situations like this and I tried my best to not put myself in the awkward position of having to look up at her. Has anyone ever seen the scene in 300 where Xerxes tries to lure King Leonidas to the dark side? Picture that with me and her…

You could just see the glares. It must’ve shifted homegirl’s vibe because my confident, short self wanted to still see if I could break her Tyra Banks-model arse on the dance floor, but suddenly, she felt as if I didn’t meet her standards. The brothas in the club could smell blood in the water and floated past whispering loud nothings in her ear that must’ve sparked something, because her brain candy was trying to get licked by every NBA/NFL prospect (not literally) in the building.

It kills me when arrogance plays itself out in a grandiose fashion. The last I saw of the now modelicious lookin’ darlin’ was when she patted me on the head and said that she’d be right back. Like a sucka, I believed her, because we… we shared a moment. Hahas and giggles were on me as I stepped out of the club with no shawty (…or is it tall-y?) on my arm and no nightcap.

Ladies… Does a tall man offer more than a shawty doo-wop? Does vanity and status have its part to play in this tale of Jack & The Beanstalk? Speak on it!