I will no longer play Wife to a man who isn't playing Husband to ME!

Yes, I said it, and though it goes against everything within me as a born nurturer, it is a just and fair decision.

I cannot tell you how much the question of "What do you bring to the table" grates on my last damn nerve. Most of all, why is it always a question asked unilaterally—men asking women—and yet, rare is the occasion that I see women asking men? And should we be so bold as to ask, it immediately leads to this whole diatribe on women only wanting a man who can do something for them financially, the whole equality and equal rights movement, and blah blah blah. You know all the tricks of the trade that are now commonly applied when that "table" turns.

I'm not sure when the tides turned, and it became a matter of women needing to qualify themselves for a man, but though I was brainwashed for quite some time, I am no more. Society now has women scurrying about in serious competition for the attention and love of a man, especially when it comes to black love. As soon as questions such as the one about the table are asked, women rush to begin running down a grocery list of attributes that they feel will set them apart from other women as to why they should be the chosen lucky ones. It is a brainwashed, pretty please-pick-me mentality that places the insecurities of women on display that ignites the women so quick to answer such an asinine question. I will never call it desperation, but I will say that the desire to love and be loved is the catalyst that has pushed women further away from recognizing the essence of who they are in society. Those who once were the hunters have become the hunted, and women are doing all they can to secure the prize—a man! Baby, I refuse! I will not perform one song and dance or even a little two-step to prove to a man that I am worthy of his love. The clicking of my five-inch heels will be strong, loud, and bold as I walk with precision and poise away, leaving the sweet smell of my feminine, Zara's Nude, fragrance behind without a second hesitation.

As a woman who was raised within a southern old-school mindset, I grew up watching not only my mother carry out her wifely duties with my father, even amid a home that was often physically and verbally violent, but I also had the visual of my aunts and uncles and maternal grandparents. Although I have never married, I know what so many men view and conceptualize as the role of a wife. Well, what men used to. Modern-day men are both confused, narcissistic, entitled, and quite honestly, too pampered and, for some, clueless and lazy.

I once was the woman who quickly provided a verbal menu to a man, describing my fantastic cooking skills upon request, and would add the grocery list to go along with my answer for effect. Collard greens, baked macaroni and cheese, buttermilk cornbread, homemade biscuits, meatloaf, fried chicken, pork chops, fried catfish on Fridays—yes, man's favorites rolled off my tongue before he could finish asking, "Can you cook?" I had something to prove. Pick me! I can cook just like your mama and grandmama.

Without hesitation, more often than I care to admit, even without the minimalist title of girlfriend, I would quickly transition into cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, grocery shopping, and even going so far as picking up new underwear while out shopping for myself. Yes, Chloe is one who caterers to whomever I am dating. I'd do this without a moment's thought, although ninety percent of the time, they had not shown me anything that said I could count on them to change my tire if I called. More times than I could admit before we'd gone on three dates. When this discussion arose, someone I once dated told me I should have roadside service and that he doesn't even change his tire. In other words, I don't change mine, so why should I change yours?

And yet, the belief is that I must show and prove via many tests administered by you that I am wife material, but the bare minimum is not required to prove you are worthy of becoming my husband. While I must prove myself, nothing has been done to assure me of your being a protector, prayer, provider, and leader. Nothing that shows me I can trust you with my life and that you can make sound decisions that will be the best for both of us, not to mean a family. You know, those things that make a man, husband material.

I once balked at the women who bragged they couldn't boil water, let alone cook. I believed they were not worthy of having a man with that mindset. And yet, I wasn't paying attention to how those very same women were not only finding happy relationships but, for many, MARRIAGE. Let me insert here how often men say that knowing how to cook is no longer an asset when asking the table question. In rebuttal, they brag about how they know how to cook for themselves, sometimes better than most women. So guess what - I'm going to let them.

In 2024, I will match energy. So you want me to prove to you that I am wife material? Bet, just know that you must prove to me that you are HUSBAND material, too! Actually you show me yours first, and I'll show you mine. Now, I don't know how you're going to do that. Because slanging dick, ain't it. I can get someone to come give me that before I can find a working air pump at QuikTrip.