And Yet it Stays the Same

I work for a fairly large company that sells fairly expensive handbags and other accessories. (No you may not use my discount.) Everyday at work I meet very different characters than most come across in a lifetime. Most can be catagorized. One particular category of women that I hate to encounter is the Have Nots.

And by the “Have Nots” I don’t mean those of a lower economic class. I mean those women who have the mentality “I have not until I find a man who will buy it for me.”

It drives me crazy. A couple weeks ago a woman came into my store and I asked her if she needed some help. She replied that she was just “dreaming” and, as this is an often repeated sentiment, I tried to leave her with my name and an invitation to ask me questions. It was then that she said:

Oh honey I can’t afford one of these bags. Maybe one day I’ll find a nice man who is willing to buy me one but I could never buy one for myself.

Errr?

Are you shittin’ me lady?

My mouth literally dropped. Women still think this way?

I couldn’t do anything but shake my head. Maybe I just come from a different cut of woman, but there’s nothing a man can buy me that I can’t get for myself. That is by no means to say that men are dispensable or unneccessary because I don’t believe that either. But I DO believe in being able to do for yourself and not waiting around for the things you want in life to be handed to you by anyone, but especially not by some man you’re expecting to be your prince charming.

It’s just unrealistic.

I would never look to be with a man because he had the means to do things for me that I couldn’t. That doesn’t mean he’s worthy of me. And I’d never allow a man to do for me what I could not return; and no that doesn’t mean that we match each other’s presents dollar for dollar. That means that I’m not willing to let someone upgrade me if I have no way to elevate his life. If we’d like to pool our collective resources together to get to another level TOGETHER then cool. Let’s be a team. But I’ll be damned if my relationship becomes a charity event for the less fortunate. Hell no.

Walking into the gas station tonight, the dude working behind the counter looked me up and down and I’m sure I can guess what he saw: tiny light skinned girl, freshly done hair and nails, expertly groomed, plucked, and polished, designer labels head to toe; must have some man taking care of me.
“You spent all that money on that bag?” he asked me, his iced out fronts damn near blinding me from behind the counter. It’s not lost on me that the lil boy working at the GAS STATION has more money in his mouth than I have in my bank account.

And I got money in the bank.

“For real,” he continues. “How much you spend on that? Like $50?”
“A lil more than that,” I reply.
“For real?!?! Like what? $200? What kinda bag is that?”
“It’s (insert name of company I work for here) (no you may not use my discount).”
“Daaaaaaaamn. So I guess the man that bought you all that is taking care of you nicely huh?”
I lower my Chanel shades to look him straight in the eye, my diamond studs sparkling, my french manicured nails hovering slightly above my precisely arched eyebrows on the arm of my sunglasses, my Dior glossed lips frowning in disapproval. I hope he’s taking in the whole look.
“No baby, I bought MY purse MYself, just like I bought these shades, just like I bought this watch, just like I bought this dress and these expensive shoes on my feet, just like I bought the truck that’s sitting outside. Tell ya girl to get like me.”

And with that I gathered my stuff, turned around and clicked the alarm to my car. I have, not because I waited for someone to drop it in my lap, but because I went and got it myself.

No really.

GET LIKE ME.

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