No And So What: My Rant against the stereotypical Black woman

No and So What?
No! I’m not 5’4’’, with light eyes, and “thick in the thighs”. I’ve never been on Maury screaming, “You know you that’s baby’s daddy! Look at his ears, look at your ears! Look at ya’lls noses!” I wasn’t anyone’s high school dropout by the 11th grade or baby’s mama by the time I reached 16. My name isn’t Shaniqua, or Diamond or Princess or Chardonnay or something equally as horrible with a sha- or la- preceding it. And no, I don’t know Pookie and Boo Boo and them.
No! I don’t know Jay-Z and can’t get you tickets to his next concert. I don’t live in the projects. I don’t know how to ‘get lite’, and yes, I’m sick and tired of hearing “What it look like?” just because you just found out I’m from Brooklyn. What do I look like?
No! I don’t have a 16’’ weave flowing down my back and a big, fat ass (pardon my French). No, my boyfriend isn’t a drug dealer, has on a $500 pair of shoes, but doesn’t know the difference between there and there. I can’t “drop it like it’s hot, but I can slap you like it’s lukewarm! And no, I don’t think Obama is the answer to every black person’s problems.
No! Hell no, in fact! My mother and father never were, and I repeat, never were, or are still on crack, heroin, PCP, MSG, weed, or any other illegal drug you can think of! I was never sold for $20 so someone in my family could high. No, I don’t smoke weed and enjoy getting “bent” (drunk). Damn five and ten dollar books; have people all confused! No, I don’t know any crackheads that can get you a 35’’ flat screen television for $20.
No! I don’t look for tricks on Atlantic Ave. or blame the white man for everything that goes wrong when I’m looking for a job. No, I don’t have the “hook-up” and can get you any $1000+ designer bag for $40 on Canal Street. I’m not looking for a handout and no, I don’t live off of welfare or in Section eight housing. No, that wasn’t me you saw on Nostrand and Myrtle last week ganging up on what’s-her-name because I found her number in my man’s phone.
And so what if my hair is done and I just let the Dominican lady wash, set, and wrap it for ten dollars ‘cause I wasn’t goin’ to go on a Thursday-Sunday kick and wind up havin’ to pay damn near twice that amount to get my “wig fixed”? Whew! – That don’t mean I’m ghetto! And so what if I like expensive stuff? Doesn’t everyone crave the finer things in life?
No! I’m not gang-affiliated, I don’t have five kids by three different guys running around, I’m not a “pop”, a “jump off”, or a “trick”, I don’t have a million dollar wardrobe with five dollars worth of brain cells, and no, I’m not going to go straight for the hair in a fight.
Regardless of what you might’ve heard or thought or seen or whatever, I’m none of those things. I may be black, but I’m me. Just, me.