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The internet will bombard you with up-to-the-minute information On celebrity interracial couples. You will sit down on the couch with the full intention of watching it And you will wake up one-and-a-half hours later with a puddle of drool on your upper arm and no real idea of what happened But you will be happy Because the movie exists.If you decide to marry your white man, Your family will be disappointed.You will ask yourself thousands of unanswerable questions, like:“Am I attracted to his blond hair and blue eyes because he is handsome, or am I attracted to him because the dominant cultural narrative of anti-blackness has convinced me that those features are attractive?”And“If I yell at him about this, am I living into the angry black woman stereotype?They might not say it In mixed company But they will find ways to let you know.
Television commercials, grocery store parking lots and doctor’s offices Will all seem to be subtle celestial signs Encouraging your union.
It does not matter if your boyfriend is a civil rights lawyer, A first generation Latvian immigrant, or, Howard-fucking-Zinn himself It is still so obvious (to some) You are You are compromising, You Are Compromised.
If you decide to date a white guy Your friends will become Your black friends And Your white friends.
And in that moment of weakness You will feel that maybe she is right That maybe this is a sign And you will not fight her.
You will say what you need to to get her off the phone And go lay down.