Most people who personally know me, know that there exists a man I must pass on the route home from the train station and we'll call him "Baby Love" as that's his name for me. Of course, I neither openly acknowledge nor answer to his call. Well, it seems that Baby Love was missing for a few weeks. Those were happy peaceful weeks. My peaceful walk home has ended and Sugar Hill is now a scary place for a young innocent woman.
Last night as I carried two grocery bags home, Baby Love approached and here's what he said...
"You know you should let me carry those bags home for you. A woman needs a man who will meet her at the train after shopping and carry her bags. One day you are going to be coming home to me. You think I play with your girl. I'm serious what I say." All words must be said with a thick gruff Jamaican accent!
First, I'll never ever come home to him. There is no amount of despair that could drive me there. No laws in the land that would make that permissible and no human who hates me enough to force me to do it. Just not gonna happen. Secondly, this isn't the first time he has expressed contentment to let me come home from a day's work and shopping to bring something home to him! Why? Why? For the love of God why?!
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