I met him at a bar. He was tall, okay maybe closer to average height 5’7-5’8 ish, he was dark, okay more like medium brown-skinned, and handsome…UNDERSTATMENT. He had long crinkly dreads pulled back into a low pony tail, and we all know how I feel about dreads! His British accent swept me away to our destination wedding in the mother country, my natural hair, our children “Raven” and “Storm”. He said, “I don’t mean to be too forward but you’re just so pretty! Do you have to leave me so soon?” I responded in a giggle, “yes, I’m sorry but you should come to New York, I’ll show you a good time”. “You’re showing me one right now”, he says, as he placed his hand on my thigh. “You okay?”, Steph asked. I just snapped out of my elaborately detailed and imaginary convo with the black bartender. “Yea, I’m okay”, I say. “He is just so cute! ”
I know! I know! you hate me right now! That was just getting so juicy! If I wasn’t such a punk, It would’ve totally happened that way, but it didn’t. However, I did in fact have a love affair in London. His name was London! I literally fell in love with it! Everything! The people (men), food, the city, the sights, everything. The men call you love, and gorgeous as if they knew you for years, chivalry is totally alive and kicking, and the Brits are absolutely gorgeous. I have never in my life been in a place where literally every 10.2 seconds I saw the father of my children! The men were just…I mean just…! and the interracial dating scene is on fire! Seriously, you see a Seal and Heidi Klum everywhere! It’s BEAUTIFUL!