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seat and beckoned me closer with two fingers. I leaned in.
    “I shave. Every. Inch. Of my body.” A seductive tone rolled off his words.
    “You’re naughty,” I accused, hoping that he wasn’t into me either.
    “Naughty by nature, shawty.”
    Oh for the love of God. “Isn’t that a music group?” I asked. I’d sung songs by Naughty by Nature in the nineties.
    He shrugged off my question. “I don’t know.”
    “Of course you don’t, you’re only twenty,” I mumbled beneath my breath.
    “Do what?” he asked.
    “What type of music do you sing?” I asked, trying to camouflage my annoyance.
    “Hip Hop,” he said like there was no other kind. “ Down on that, bitch, is my song that hit Top 100.”
    Down on that, bitch? I think I’d rather be dealing with a nail biter or a doctor with a flaccid dick.
    “That sounds like a really good song,” I said sarcastically. “How old are you?”
    “Thirty. Fortunately for you, I’m more than just eye candy.”
    Trying to hide the smile that was breaking through, I actually covered my mouth. I was done…never going on a single date again.
    He opened his mouth again, and I had to speak simply to get him to shut the hell up.
    “So, are you a pistol-packing drug addict who bags on his momma?” The question I asked was completely sarcastic. I wasn’t really mocking him, just wanted to see how much he knew of Eminem’s music.
    Emin-O chuckled but didn’t seem to recognize the lyrics. Poser.
    “Sam is kind of a dude’s name,” he said.
    I shook my head. “Yeah, I guess. But I’m not a dude.”
    His hands shot up in the air. “Wait, wait.” He closed his eyes as his head started bobbing forward. When he began snapping in rhythm with his head nods, I glanced around us. An elderly couple from the table next to ours watched him. Suddenly, he broke into a beat box routine. My eyes widened as blood inched up my face.
    “Sam. Sam. I’m not a dude,” he rapped the sound of drums between his words. “Bam. Beautiful. I want you nude.”
    I slid my purse up over my shoulder. This was ridiculous. Was he for real?
    “Bitch is hot—though she got small tits,” he continued. “When we gettin’ it on—I be grabbin’ her hips.”
    I stood, unable to take another unbearable second.
    He chuckled. “It’s as easy as that, bro.”
    “Look, Emin-O, Marshall…Bro. You are a sexy, rapping beast. I fear I cannot even begin to keep up with you. You need someone hotter, sexier…” For a second, I thought I might choke on my words.
    “You’re leaving?” he asked with shock flitting over his face. I couldn’t imagine a woman staying for this.
    “Yes. I’m sorry.”
    He popped to his feet so quickly it startled me; I froze when he suddenly stood nose to nose with me.
    “Sugar. You need a shot of Vitamin Me. Don’t go.”
    Ok…He did not just say VITAMIN ME!
    “Marshall. As appealing as that is, I must say no.”
    His arms shot out to the side as he back stepped away from me. “You don’t know what you’re missing, bruh. I’m like Tony fucking Romo…I go deep!”
    “OK. Have a good night,” I said politely and stormed off, yanking my phone from my handbag.
     
    Date 4
     
    Why I decided on the second Findamatch date eluded me as I walked up to the playground equipment where I was meeting Jared. He was older than me by ten years. Admittedly, he confessed in an open chat that he was losing his hair and had gained ‘some’ weight through his midsection. I think what drew me to agreeing to meet Jared was that he was raising a grandchild. Knowing how important my own child was in my life…made me admire him for taking on his grandchild.
    The moment I spotted him, I knew it. ‘Losing his hair’ meant bald, which wasn’t a bad thing. I’d always found bald men attractive too. And, ‘gained some weight through my midsection’ was code for a very high BMI. On a pregnancy scale, which is how I was used to measuring things, he was about 7 months