Saturday, February 21, 2009

He Came With Red Flags and No Receipts

I stay well. Thriving, actually. Still the CEO of Solo & Unbothered, conducting my own orchestra while the world hums off-key.

But you knew a month in my life wasn’t closing without at least one romantic comedy audition where nobody gets the part.

So I told myself: Leata, be gracious. Be open. Give the man a fair witness hearing.

And I did.
Then the evidence started piling up like unpaid court fines.

Let me reconstruct the timeline.

I’m in a parking lot near death with a cold, coughing like a vintage engine trying to start in winter. Here comes this man with:
“Oh you too pretty to be sick.”
Sir. Health isn’t a compliment-based immune system.

I tried the ice glare of dismissal. He powered through like solar energy. Against my better judgment… I let the conversation go to trial.

Excerpt from the Case File:

Red Flag 1:
36-year-old man dressed like spring break is his full-time job.

Red Flag 2:
Thirty minutes into meeting him and I already knew:

  • who in his family smokes what,

  • who lives in his house illegally,

  • who he despises by government name,

  • his account balance,

  • his mechanic’s schedule,

  • and a meteorological summary.

This is not introduction. This is deposition.

Red Flag 3:
Education is attractive. Mispronouncing the name of your own college is a felony.
There is no universe where Southern becomes Suh-Da-Ren.

Red Flag 4:
Why are you embracing a woman actively battling airborne pathogens?

Against every better instinct, I handed over an expired business card with the wrong number.
This man located me like a bounty hunter. And yes… a tiny part of me respected the hustle.

Friday comes. Karaoke night. Surely public setting + witnesses means safe.

Wrong again.

He shows up one hour late with a story that didn’t even believe itself.

The rest of the evening unfolded like a behavioral handbook titled “Do Not Do This.”


Forbidden First Date Practices, Volume 36:

  • Do not arrive late and then lie badly about why.

  • Do not freestyle rap into my ear like Beatboxing is a personality trait.

  • If I ask a question, respond with English — not a remix.

  • If you’re 36, do not ask me to fund your mixtape era.

  • Button your shirt like you acknowledge society exists.

  • If your hands resemble 40-grit sandpaper, keep them in your system tray.

  • First date is NOT the time to discuss STD testing logistics like it’s appetizer selection.

  • If you don’t know a word, please don’t weaponize it.

  • “Strong” is not pronounced SCRONG.

  • Do not hold a full phone press conference at the table. Take it to the hallway like a civilized adult.

  • And for the love of social civics: do not ask me how much to leave for a tip


I should have left.
But there was a magazine at the table and irony writes itself if you give it enough ink.

So no, there will not be a sequel.
Yes, he’s still orbiting like Wi-Fi I never connected to.
And no, I will not be updating this subscription.

Because here’s the truth:

Grace opens the door. Discernment guards the house.

Being open does not mean being unarmed.
Compassion is not a witness protection program for poor behavior.
You can give someone a chance without surrendering your standards.

Some people arrive waving red flags like they’re welcoming you to the fair.
You don’t buy a ticket just because the colors are bright.

Attention is grace. Access is earned. And alignment is required.

Everything else is a story  and some are best enjoyed as a lesson, a laugh, and a blog entry.

-  Leata


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