No, I’m Not a Mommy

In the past 6 months I’ve received various inquiries into the state of my womb, specifically about the fact that it’s empty.

When visiting my mom* on the East Coast recently, I reconnected with an aunt whom I haven’t seen since I was a kid. I warmed to her immediately; her personality fills a room.

[*I have two moms through a remarriage (dad’s) – one on the East Coast, one in Texas (with dad).]

After exchanging pleasantries and hugs, my aunt said,

“Keisha, you don’t want no husband or children?” It didn’t seem so much a question, but more of a statement of fact. The implication being that if I hadn’t done it by now, I’m not going to.

What It’s Like Being Single During the Holidays

“C’mon ladies, you can do this! 15 more seconds! Think about all the delicious Thanksgiving food you’ll get to have next week. I just made a butternut squash casserole last night to test out and it was so tasty. There’re sweet potatoes, macaroni and cheese, turkey – which I don’t even really like…Why do I have Thanksgiving food on my mind?” My bubbly Pilates instructor gabbed on about Thanksgiving as we held our planks what felt like the longest 15 seconds in history. A classmate chimed in: “You have one week and a day!”

What did she say? I cocked my head to the side as we moved on to triceps exercises on the tower.

Don’t Pity Me Because I’m Single

“Are your standards too high?”

My concerned dad, seated in front of me in the booth, waited to hear whether I was self-sabotaging my romantic possibilities and thus crushing his dreams of seeing more grandchildren. Grandchildren from his firstborn. No pressure.

I’d returned to Houston to visit my family for the Christmas holiday. My dad had kidnapped me from my parents’ house, where funnily enough I’d been regalingmy mom with dating horror stories. He’d returned from running whatever errands dads run and whisked me away. He didn’t tell me where we were going. I didn’t know until we pulled into the restaurant parking lot. I guess we’re eating then.

My “Mindy Project” Moment With a Guy On the Elevator

I marathoned season one of The Mindy Project during the summer television drought. I developed a girl crush on the lead character, Mindy Lahiri, almost immediately. She’s me. She’s my friends! Mindy’s an educated, single, professional woman in her early 30s, living in Boston. She’s a relatable blend of endearingly awkward, at times second-hand-cringe-inducingly awkward, feisty, ready to go head-to head with the funniest of dudes in a battle of quips, unabashed lover of pop culture, with a fabulous style exhibited by her flyass enviable wardrobe. And she’s brown! She’s a brown girl on TV, Indian-American to be more specific, and her brownness is not the focus of her character’s life. She gets to be “normal.”

Yes, I Am a Single Female in Her 30s With Cats

A male co-worker and I got into one of our usual tiffs when I declared, “I want a dooooooog!” He scoffed and gave me a pointed look, “You already have two cats. No guy is going to want to date a woman with two cats and a dog!”

I and my female co-worker (and close friend) gasped in disagreement. This was a common occurrence. This male co-worker would nonchalantly drop a statement which we’d find incendiary and a heated debate would ensue, often in the lunchroom, hilariously, with others joining in and sides forming along gender lines.

Men in San Francisco and My Awkward Black Girl Moment

If you haven’t watched the hilarious web series “The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl” on YouTube, you need to get on it! Issa Rae plays “J”, a well-meaning, feisty-but-lovable, often awkward, twenty-something dating, working, and trying to navigate her world in Los Angeles. She hilariously narrates the awkward, uncomfortable, and sometimes cringe-worthy moments many of us encounter in our daily lives. Watching that series helped me let the gunk out after long, shitty days at my recent lifeforce-sucking job.

How I Learned to Love My “Thick Thighs”

I’ve been thinking about my weight since I was 13.

One day I ate everything I wanted with abandon and the next, the size of my thighs were cause for angst.

Thirteen is about when I started working out. My mom had a catalog of Jane Fonda videos from the 80s and I was Jane Fonda’s devoted follower. She looked hot in spandex and my thighs did not. Jane still looks hot today. It’s unreal. I also became a devotee of Joyce Vedral and her fat-burning workout. I thank her to this day for my interest in being fit and toned.

I’ve been known to get a little intense about my interests. My poor parents. As a teen, upon being presented with “soaked in the deep fryer” chicken for dinner, I exclaimed with dramatic horror: