No — Hell No — to the Jerk from OKCupid
About seven years ago, I was single and sexless in Los Angeles.
I lived with my very religious mother (which would partially explain the sexless part) and was back in my hometown for the unforeseeable future. As an attempt to embrace my new normal, I thought it was time for me to at least attempt to create a dating life for myself.
The problem was that I had no car and no job, so the only men I could meet were the ones at church when I attended Young Adult Bible Study. Some of them I just wasn’t attracted to, but most of them barely noticed me. And as most Black churches go, there were exactly 10–12 women to every one man, and most of the men ain’t shit.
That left only one viable option for me: OkCupid. It was free, I could meet dudes in front of my computer screen, and I didn’t even have to wax my eyebrows or contour my face. I quickly learned that there were ain’t-shit men there too — the kind who would message me with thirsty comments about my boobs or begging me for “more pics.”
Those got deleted quickly. I had almost given up on this social experiment when I got a message from Kwame. He sent me a safe, “I’d like to get to know you” message and I was relieved to find out that there were normal people on this Godforsaken app.
We sent messages back and forth, and later that week he asked to meet up. Finally, a date. He suggested we got to an Indian buffet in Hawthorne for lunch. I braved the public bus in Los Angeles to meet Kwame. I dressed nicely, did my makeup, and wore my good shoes. Kwame, on the other hand, was 20 minutes late and arrived wearing a wrinkled button down shirt. He hadn’t even bothered to go to the barber shop.
As he walked over to the table, I took a deep breath and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
That is, until he asked me an insane question after five minutes of small talk about traffic in LA:
“So how long do you wait before you have sex with someone?”
I almost choked on my mango lassi. “Excuse me?” I asked. He repeated the question. I looked down. “Um…well, it depends,” I said. I was still shocked. He was a fucking stranger, and while my sexless life sucked, I wasn’t ready to talk about sex so soon.
I awkwardly changed the subject after he decided to tell me his last girlfriend made him wait a year for sex. I asked where he grew up. Turned out Kwame was originally from the West African country of Togo but moved to LA to be a nurse. I regretted that the convo didn’t start here instead of with a loaded question about whether I had a 90 Day Rule or whatever. Once again, I gave ol’ boy the benefit of the doubt.
Then came the clincher. We went for a short walk and that is when I was reminded that I forgot to shave my armpits, even though I was wearing a sleeveless top. And I was reminded because Kwame had yet another great question for me:
“Do you shave your pubic area?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. Was this asshole joking? “Okay, why are you asking me this?” I snapped back. He gave me what I am sure he thought was a rational explanation: in Togo, where he was from, apparently an unshaved vagina was considered the height of female sex appeal. “Your armpits aren’t shaved so I thought maybe you didn’t shave your public area either.”
I decided to abort this mission.
I made up an excuse and said I had to go home. I couldn’t get away from Kwame fast enough. Not one to ghost, as soon as I got home I had to deliver the bad news: no, there would not be a second date, and I did not want to see him again.
Kwame, being the kind of man who hates rejection I suppose, sent me a mean, but brief message back.
“Well, you should change your profile picture on OkCupid so you don’t waste anyone else’s time.” Basically, a more polite way of saying, “Fuck you bitch, you’re ugly anyway.”
I don’t regret saying no and I certainly don’t regret never giving Kwame the opportunity to find out if I shaved my vagina. I do regret giving him the benefit of the doubt at first. Maybe my “no” should have come sooner. But when it did come, Kwame sure as fuck didn’t like it. I took that as a life lesson.
I was sexless and single for nearly another year and a half after that. But in that time, at least I didn’t show an unworthy dude my hairy vagina.
Read Loryn’s previous #Naysayers post, Can You Say No to a Hiring Manager?, or explore more of her writing.
