So, my wife Cheryl tells me she wants to go to this discount department store and I’m down with that. She deserved it. Some of her cook books got wet earlier and I thought it’d be nice besides I wanted to go just to see what junk they were trying to sell anyway. So, my wife Cheryl tells me she wants to go to this discount department store and I’m down with that. She deserved it. Some of her cook books got wet earlier and I thought it’d be nice besides I wanted to go just to see what junk they were trying to sell anyway. But I thought, “you never know, maybe there just might be a diamond in the rough somewhere.” But deep down I knew I had a better chance at finding a Tailban in a Kabally cave than I did a legitimate fashion in that joint. So off we went.
“Which one you want to go to, the Melrose or the Westside one?” I asked.
Cheryl said it didn’t matter, so I picked the Westside one. Why? Because anybody who’s anybody knows the Westside of Los Angeles is so oh so much better than God forbid any other part of LA except for Beverly Hills of course. I must admit, as cynical as I am it’s pretty tough to hate on
Beverly Hills…even if no Black people live there. If you beg to differ then tell me the last time you saw a free Black man walking the streets of Beverly Hills. See, brothas know because they don’t play that over there. A brotha’ll get lumped up quick –two times– in BVH and will never ever be seen again.
So, we fight our way through LA traffic (where the hell all these people are going all at the same time ceases to amaze me and we didn’t take the infamous 405) to the store. We circle three times and finally find a parking space. When we get in the store, there are just a few customers and that’s cool with me because that’s how I like it, I don’t like a lot of people shopping around me. But then again I don’t shop very much at all. I go buying instead. I decide what I need at home, drive to the mall, walk in, buy it, and leave.
So, I checkout a few slacks and then I take a step back and ask myself, “Who wears clothes like this?” I mean I know it’s LA and anything goes, but who –and I mean who– wears this stuff? I’d like the see the clown who walks in here and says, “Hey boy this mesh multi colored Hawaii shirt is so hot, I’ve just got to buy all six of them!” (I couldn’t begin to describe what the fabric was made out of, but I think it was from Ubzekistanian).
Meanwhile on the left side of the store my wife is having much greater success than I. So I join her. From the looks of the store I thought maybe I can find one of those real ghetto, tight spandex ,FUBU-type dresses that’s really form fitting and clingy. I saw some women at the Slauson swap meet wearing them once when I was getting the Jetta’s windows tinted and it kind of turned me on. Bunk that it did. They was workin’em. Those dresses are straight up hootchie, but I just love’em. I may talk junk about Compton, but I do have love for the hood. I just don’t want to live in the hood, that’s all.
Oh happy day and to my luck I actually find two or three of them. They weren’t FUBU, but I didn’t care, they were close enough. “Hey try this on, please!”, I said with a lascivious smile on my face.
If you could have just seen the look on my wife’s face– it was like, “Where the hell do you expect me to wear this thing” And that’s basically what she said in real life.
“I don’t know. Just try it on,” I replied. I hadn’t gotten that far yet. I had always joked about bringing her home one of these dresses, but today I had finally got my chance. I figured even if I couldn’t get her to buy it, I could at least remember what she looked like in it and store it in my vivid memory bank…enough said.
“Lets go try it on,” I suggested. And low and behold, she fell for it.
Tune in next week for part #3.
Kenneth and his wife Cheryl live in Los Angeles, CA. In addition to Young, Married, & Black, Kenneth writes professional screenplays and non-fiction books. Send your comments to: firstname.lastname@example.org