I’ve never been fond of pop ins. Growing up I was never allowed to bring friends home after school. I’d open the door and yell out,”mom, are you naked?” Or Mom, Leisha is with me, can she come in?! The answer was always, the equivocal no. She’d, say, I don’t want strangers in the house. I also don’t ever recall having a sleep over or a slumber party throughout my teenage years. Don’t get me wrong, I could go to them, but couldn’t have them myself.

Strangely as I got older, I would have more and many people over. I’d throw parties in college and allow people to crash on my couch or dorm floor. The usual twenty something antics…however, as one female becomes more and more into fashion she has, shall we say, certain aspirations. Perhaps that’s not the word I am looking for. I started to get into my appearance.

You see having curly hair, naturally curly hair, causes it to be crazy in the morning. I am talking about…flat on the back, pushed to the side in the front, clownesque. I believe I just made up that word. So even the slightest thought of people popping by without me wearing makeup, or some various type of hair products to tame my curls wasn’t happening.

Years passed and I still would like some notice to spruce up the house and put together an ensemble. You know look pretty for me or them.

But lately I’ve craved a pop in from one individual…. its like I see myself in a Jane Austen novel but everyone is black with natural hair and I will sweetly say, ” do sit down”. He accepts and sits down like a proper gentleman. I come forth with a tray of tea… come on people! Beer. A tray of beer. I pour it sideways into a glass to have less foam.

He takes it.

He grabs my hand and says, Miss you are so thoughtful. I apologize for my pop in. I smile sweetly at him and say…. you can pop in anytime if you don’t mind my shabby appearance. He says, you’ve never looked lovelier.