Please Don’t Pet Me
I was out with a guy. It was my first real interracial dating experience. We were sitting side by side, and his arm was around my shoulders.
For a while, I had been primarily keeping my hair braided underneath a scarf. But that day, I was feeling a bit spicy, so I decided to rock my Afro puff.
At some point, he decided the hair-petting opportunity was too good to pass up. So he gave my puff a light rub over, and a little squeeze at the top, probably thinking I wouldn’t feel it.
My eyes widened as my brain tried to process the situation. I stiffened up, utterly uncomfortable.
Did he just…
This was no new experience for me, and this wasn’t even the worst time I had encountered something like this.
Because this wasn’t the first time, I had anticipated him to say something about my hair — like ask a curious question or maybe give a compliment to even slightly soften his actions.
Neither came. He didn’t say anything. It was odd.
And we weren’t in an intimate, lovey-dovey, hot and heavy, run your hands through my hair like in the movies, type of situation. That kind of petting wasn’t happening. It wasn’t that kind of date.
