He Spit In My Hair

February 26, 2011 § Leave a comment

When I was a young girl, I played with my friend Linda on the grassy knolls in the middle of our apartment complex. Once, a boy named Marquis ran by and spit in our hair. Furious, we chased him around the complex. We never caught him and he laughed all the way home. I went home and immediately told my mom what he did to us.

“Mama! Marquis spit in my hair!”

“Don’t worry,” my mom said. “That means he likes you.”

My mother must have seen the obvious look of confusion of my face because she continued, “When a boy tries to mess with you, it means that he likes you and he wants your attention.” And she left it at that.


As I grew up, I started to look for those signs that a guy was interested in me by the way he would obnoxiously bother me (In retrospect, it was pure douchebaggery from the start). If he went out of his way to agitate me, it meant that he liked me. And I just wanted someone to like me in those awkward, agonizing stages of adolescence. I thought once I got a little older, and a little wiser, that I’d unlearn that juvenile boy-girl dynamic that my mother instilled in me.

What I think happened, though, was that I got a little older but the dynamics never changed. In the wake of another breakup, I’m questioning why I was ever attracted to that person in the first place. There is something intriguing to me about someone I can bump heads with. When I first meet a guy, I find it sexy that they can hold their own in a conversation with me, especially when they disagree with me. But as time goes by, and we both get deep into our relationship, it’s not so sexy anymore–it’s combative and annoying. Not saying that we can’t ever have disagreements. But to disagree all the time simply for the sake of being an asshole? No. Just ain’t gonna work out.
It’s funny how the things that attract us to someone, are sometimes the very things that end up getting on our last nerve.

So, I’m currently trying to re-wire my brain in hopes of finding someone who treats me the way I deserve to be treated because the “bad boy” really is just a malfunctioned, man-child with no grasp of how real adult relationships work. And I’m the girl with a glitch attempting to make sense of it all.


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