It's weird.
It's weird knowing.
It's weird not only knowing, but coming to terms with the fact that a small percentage of your boyfriend's family is going to crack jokes behind closed doors about his inability to find a suitable woman to date.
It kinda finally hit me. It's not that I didn't know, we've talked about it. We talk about a lot of important things. How it will definitely happen. How he knows it will happen. Because he knows how a few people in his family are.
It's a strange thing to know and a strange thing to have to accept. Even if it's just in jest, it's still a pretty terrible thing to say about another person.
About me.
That he's that desperate. That he would stoop that low as to entertain a person outside of his race. Even worst, a black woman.
The older I become the more I find myself having to deal with issues like this. My eyes continuing to be open. Not necessarily about my lovely and me, but about how the world works. How it's so terribly bloated. Bloated with so much anger and unnecessary ugliness.
It really sucks.
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