At some point in her relationship, every woman will face a critical decision. Some of us have been presented with this test and failed abysmally. Others can’t imagine the torture that this trial will bring. In many cases, it will set or change the tone of your relationship.
“Hey baby…can you get me a sandwich?”
Somewhere, a feminist fairy just ripped off her wings and use them as daggers in order to inflict multiple self-inflected stab wounds, shocked by the very utterance of those words. “Do I look like the type of woman who would make you a sandwich??”
It seems like an innocent enough request, but that question carries with it a lot of baggage. It signifies a time of oppression in a woman’s mind. Images of pot-bellied men sitting in a dingy den with their male buddies, stinking of beer and sweat, bellowing requests for food come to mind. In the 1950’s and before, a woman would begrudgingly – but unquestionably – bring her mate a sandwich. That’s just what “good” women and wives did; they served their men. But then we had the women’s liberation movement and through much hard work and toil, the female gender won the right to point to the fridge in defiance and tell her man to get his own damned sandwich!
A Black comedian once remarked that since slavery is over, he won’t even pick the cotton out of his prescription bottle. So too will some women never (ever) make a sandwich for her man…even if she secretly really wants to.
It’s the female nature to want to nurture another human being. It’s why we Clara Barton started the Red Cross; why Wangari Maathai started planting trees; why Harriet Tubman led droves of people to freedom. We believe in peace and harmony for all living beings. And what is more peaceful and harmonious than a well fed man? Few things, to be sure. A woman would LOVE to bring her man a sandwich if it would make him happy…she just doesn’t want to be expected to do it. She wants to be appreciated for it.
Let’s go to MOM Mode so you can see why, and witness how a brilliant man got his woman to make him the best sandwich ever.
***Lights fading in*****
Niqqi is 38, and the daughter of preacher. She has always known her self-worth and cherished the idea of marriage, but somewhere in the 20s, a man came along. A few beguiling words and false promises later, a son is born. Her child is all grown up now – a junior in high school. She’s looking to find love again; and true love this time. All the same, she vowed long ago never to be taken in by a man again. In time the sultry, natural sistuh with piercing eyes and a sharp, but witty tongue allows a potential male partner into her life. His name is Bilal. He respects her stand on not having sex before marriage, and professes to be content with the mere pleasure of her company.
“Intimacy is better than sex,” he whispers reassuringly.
With those words, he seals his place as her official paramour and they see each other exclusively. Ever testing his resolve, Niqqi offers him companionship, but nothing beyond that. Men are wont to flee when they have taken all that they want. Soon, weeks turn into months and Super Bowl Sunday is upon them. Beyonce is performing for the duration of the half time show and Niqqi leaves the living room to get herself something to drink. She turns to ask Bilal if he would like something as well –just to be courteous – but notices he’s staring at something – hard.
“You staring at the TV kinda hard, ain’t ya?” she snaps.
She knows Beyonce is gyrating and winding at that moment. In the background she can hear the songstress growling “dutty win’” repeatedly.
“Naw, baby,” Bilal says confidently. “I’m staring at you.”
“Girl yes,” he laughs. “Don’t you know you finer than Beyonce?”
“Oh shut up!” she says, laughing at the absurdity of the statement. After all, NO ONE is finer than Beyonce.
Bilal see’s the doubt in her eyes. He gets up and joins her in the kitchen.
“No. For real. Look at her hair,” he says, trailing his fingers through her brown twists. “That ain’t her hair. That’s all weave! You have beautiful, luscious hair…and it’s yours.”
Niqqi giggles and focuses her attention on her glass of juice.
“And your body is amazing,” Bilal continues, taking a step back to appreciate her form. “And it’s not all cut up and taped together like hers is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at her legs,” he says dismissively. “Her legs don’t even look like that. She got about 4 or 5 pairs of stockings on to make ‘em look like that!”
Niqqi bursts into full on laughter at this point. She didn’t look as good as Beyonce, surely, but she was feeling more beautiful by the minute. Bilal gingerly, but respectfully touches her belly.
“And you’ve had a baby,” he says, his voice liquid and warm. “Everyone knows Beyonce has never given birth. Girl, you’ve had a BABY and your body is still finer than Beyonce’s!”
Bilal takes Niqqi by the tips of her fingers and spins her around. She feels so…alive. He was right. She was finer than Beyonce. Before she knew it, the words fell right out of her mouth.
“Baby…can I get you anything? Would you like a sandwich?” she asks excitedly.
“Yes. I’d love one.”
****Lights fading out****
When my co-worker told me this story – the story of the day she discovered she was hotter than the “Most Beautiful Woman in the World” – it shook something in my belief system. Could it be that I could be converted into a willing sandwich maker too?
I don’t know. I’m scared to find out…
Ladies: do you enjoy “serving” your man? And men do you expect your woman to serve you? Do you appreciate it when she does, or do you think it’s a duty? You might want to respond anonymously. I don’t want any spousal abuse reported here…hehehe!!