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Flirty thumb wrestling - Just Being Funny

On our fourth date, Roberto gifted me his Christian dating book. Apparently, there are five dating levels. He was ready for us to enter the second level. Each level came with instructions for physical boundaries. 

Level 3 was where things would – nay, could – get exciting. Then we could have “face-to-face” contact. I was almost certain that meant kissing, but from the way things were going, this could very well just be us rubbing our cheeks together. Maybe he was into more alternative forms of intimacy and wanted to experiment with rubbing our foreheads together. Ey, every lock has a key! No judgment.

At level 2, we had limited hand holding and flirty thumb fights. I was only allowed to touch exposed body parts. If he wore a cap sleeve t-shirt, I could only touch him all the way up to the hem of that sleeve. If he wore a long sleeve button down, I could only touch up to his wrist. His body is a wonderland with restrictive visiting hours. But I'm not here to bash lifestyle choices or rob dudes of their armpit virginity. 

I had to leave for several months for a school project. Business before bros, amarite? Without the complexity of distance dating, I doubted the relationship would last. Every time I saw Roberto, I thought, God, why doesn’t he look like his profile photo? Why won't his skin tan? I wasn’t trying to be a colorist, but I didn’t realize black people could be described as having a pasty complexion. Help him, melanin gods. Help!

After our second video chat, we decided that we should focus on what's happening in our respective cities. The relationship didn’t require that type of commitment. We’d reconnect when I returned. 

I used that time to focus on all the nice things Roberto did. His personality. Sigh, you know a relationship ain’t going to last when you have to focus on someone’s personality as a distraction from their face. Woooi. 

When I returned, our first date was chilling in the student hall for some burgers, fries, and Bible study. Fresh off of blessing the food, he says “I’ve been praying. I think we should take a step back.” Well, dang. Normally, I would be too sad to eat, but I never pass up a free meal. 

It finally clicked why he didn't want to hug or hold my hand as we walked to the burger place. I reviewed his mom jeans, his scraggly facial hair, and pasty skin. “I’m fine with breaking up.”

He was stunned. I didn't beg. I didn't cry. Did I even blink? Nah, a bish was cold. All he wanted was a ‘step back’, but I hit him with a “Issa no from me. How ‘bout you, Simon?”
The only thing I questioned – and still question – is what's “a step back” from hand holding?  Strangers? It must be because that’s exactly what we are now. Tweet me if you have the answer.

Shout out to all those who look like their profile photos and ain’t afraid to do a little flirty thumb wrestling. 

What would you do? Tweet me using #JBFxOnicia

Created on St. Maarten. Based in Chicago. Onicia Muller (@OniciaMuller) writes, says funny things, and enjoys hanging with creative minds. Originally published in The Daily Herald's Weekender, Just Being Funny is a weekly reflection where Onicia laughs at life

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