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"Christi's got nunderwear!" She turned and buried her face in the folds of her mother's white tennis skirt. "She's wearing nunderwear, Mommy. Make her take it off," the freckle-faced red head pleaded, "she's scaring me!" My," Mommy grasped for the right words, "that's, uh, really something, Christi. I thought you were getting ready for your 'mystery date'?" I am!" the blue-eyed brunette bounced. "I'm going 'convent' so he'll be sure to play rough with me! Think it'll work?" Works for me," Billy drooled as his eyes bore into Christi's nylon-covered mound. He reached out to claw his moist prey, but Mommy corrected:"That's enough, young man. I'm sure the girls want to be 'fresh' for their date." Awh, Mom" he mumbled. "I never get to have any fun." It's okay, Bil-ly" Christi cooed. "I bought five pairs. There'll be plenty for you to rip open later." Cool!" In the meantime," Mommy removed her trembling daughter's face from her crotch and patted her son's rise, "why don't you two go get. Midway through our meal, an actual God from Black Africa walked through the doors. He was about 6’3” and blacker than blue black. He had a bit of gray in his hair which made him look like he could have easily been Idris Elba’s blacker, more beautiful, big brother. Swag? He not only invented the word, he copyrighted and trademarked that shit. He was wearing an ensemble by MaXhosa and he looked like he just stepped off the runway from Paris Fashion Week. Every eye in the place turned and watched him as he made his way through the restaurant to sit with his dinner companion, a caramel-skinned brotha who was beautiful in his own right but over-shadowed by the glow of melanin, charm, charisma, and pure magnetism that emanated from his cohort of deep, dark, chocolate heaven. As luck would have it, the pair sat at the table next to us, I was facing the other brotha and Jason was sitting opposite Shaka Zulu. That was all I could think to call him at the time because words failed me.
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" She sectionedmy hair, handed me the stack of pink Lilt gripper sponge end wraps, andbegan rolling my hair in teeny tiny blue Toni spin curlers. She startedin the middle, rolling my hair on top, and worked forward to myforehead. She was doing something different on my hair than she did forMrs. Widders. She was using more rods because my hair was so long andshe was setting the rods almost overlapping each other. By the time shegot to my forehead, she had wrapped almost thirty rods. She looked atthe pile of little blue rods and said, "We're not going to haveenough." She went to the phone and made a call. I got up and looked atmyself in the bathroom mirror. I was so excited that I was finallygetting a perm.I went back to the kitchen, sat down, and my mother went back to work."I called Mrs. Kent to have her bring over her perm rods. I don't thinkwe have enough here. You have so much hair." She rolled a few morerods. "I want to make sure I am not putting too much hair on each rod.Bruce.

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