I was sorta surprised to see the like-factor on this recent Facebook status I posted.
Married and non-married friends alike seemed to identify with (or at least appreciate) my little exercise of adventuring outside to bask in the moonlight – and bickering cacophony that bellows from beyond the walls of my apartment complex almost on a nightly basis. The only nuisance is that when the cops pay their weekly domestic disturbance call, they end up showing up at my door. Which sucks – because some of them have sexy-potential, which I 100% lack by the time of night they wake me up with what sounds like a battering ram of angry villagers pillaging the beast’s castle.
But apparently, I’m not alone in being alone and alright about it.
Recent studies spotlight how fewer people have been signing their
genitals lives away.
And the stats have been increasing since the 70’s.
Apparently, employment plays a role as a deciding factor, demographically. In fact, one research effort on the topic concluded that black women want a man with a job. My instinct is to call that racist or skewed because most of the black women I know have their own well paying jobs. But I’m too lazy too look up the details of the sample size taken and assessed, so I dunno. Mayhaps it speaks to a larger dispossessed and impoverished portion of the population looking to survive because they either didn’t have an opportunity for higher education (requirement for a decent job in many cases) and/or who have children to support. Who knows.
However you wanna take that stat, there are other – more emotionally based – factors as well. For instance – how the evolution of the gender role has also played a part. Previous studies (in the disco era) on this looked at how men went off to work and brought home the bacon to their kids and Betty Crocker housewife.
Assuming she hadn’t oven-gassed her own skull as he porked Suzy secretary at the office.
Now, however, the scientific ruminations on the matter seem to observe that “love” is the larger factor motivating marriage. This makes sense if you think about the fact that everything started changing around the 70’s – when free love and self-actualization and all that kinda stuff started becoming popular. However, as we’re barraged with the ubiquitous assimilation of how media, movies, and anything but we ourselves define love – that’s an abstract concept that can get everyone confused due to its lack of an apt definition. I’d say it’s like waiting in a desert for your ship to come in, but it’s more like waiting for a ship to come in when you dunno what the shit a ship even is.
Regardless of romance or survival, I still don’t get the point of marriage.
It’s a promise I can’t make beyond a daily basis, so I can’t expect anyone else to try. Plus, the contract doesn’t exclude people from mistake-making, cheating, changing into monsters who infuse our consciousness with horrible words and acts that can’t be unsaid, or even leaving. In fact, all’a that seems to be more of a catalyst for many married folk – unless they mutually share a spiritual path or principles of some sort from the outset.
That said, I am still a human woman with scarlet life-giving liquid coursing through my veins. And I’m not terribly worried about “what my number” is (dusty thought my coital calculator may bit ATM). Which reminds me – I haven’t seen much of Frankie the schmexy-albeit-terrible-with-directions door battering cop. Neighbors are about a week late for interlache violence. Assuming he hasn’t killed her yet, maybe I should do an aesthetic prep practice round for the next time I hear the couple in 301 exchanging blows – the Paul Revere style sleep-stealing signifier that I’mma get a house call imminently, too.
(Bit outta practice, but I’ll try my hardest)
‘cause like mama always used to say: handcuff chains beat a ball n’ chain.