Not So Tall Tales

The Story of My White Whale

This is another white whale, unfortunately not the same one in this article. But you're welcome for giving you something pretty to look at.

This is another white whale, unfortunately not the same one in this article. But you’re welcome for giving you something pretty to look at.

It’s come to my attention (since referring to a guy as my white whale and getting weird looks) that not everyone knows what “white whale” means. It’s from Moby Dick  and basically represents the object you long for. Urban Dictionary knows what I mean (see #7). So that thing I couldn’t have, or thought I couldn’t have, I did have. I had it all night long. 

There was this guy I knew once. We made out and then that was it. To be honest, he wasn’t even that good. However, every time I saw him drag a girl back into his room after a night filled with wine I would cringe and wish it were me instead.*

Sometimes How to with Courtney has poor judgement skills. And by “sometimes” I really mean almost always, especially when I’m drunk.

Anyway, after a year of being passed up for someone else I started getting a bit annoyed.  So on the last wine filled night ever I decided to take things into my own hands.

Now, normally I would  sit by and idly watch as nothing happened, but it was a full moon and I had convinced myself anything was possible. So, rather than Charlie Brown trudge back to my own apartment, I pushed him against the wall and kissed him. Then I asked a very simple and direct question:

“Why not me? Why is it never me you bring back into your room? You flirt with me all night then leave me high and dry.” After what seemed like a year he finally responded: “Because you’re Courtney.”

It’s not that I was disappointed by the answer. It just wasn’t what I had dreamed up in my mind. After all, I had spent a year crafting  the perfect fairy tale responses from him. Ideally, he was supposed to be on a white horse and in full prince attire, but I accepted the 1920s garb and standing in a hallway. The least he could do was whisk me off my feet with some romantic line.

But, he did not.

So I stood strong and walked away like the powerful black woman I am on the inside. Then the alcohol kicked in and I decided I wanted to kiss him some more, and eventually go back to his room so I could say I finally beat this never-ending game of solitaire.**

No calls have been made since that night, nor do I expect a follow-up. This was one of  those one-off moments where the moon was full and people got a little crazy. And by crazy I mean I finally spoke my mind and asked the question that I had been punching my friends in the face with every Thursday morning: “Why not me?”

I got my round-about answer, the kiss I had been waiting a year for and learned the value of speaking my mind. Who knew I would live to tell the tale of the night I f*cked my white whale? ***

* I make this sound like he is a caveman who hits women over the head with sticks and drags them back to his cave – however that isn’t the case. 

** Yes, I just compared lusting after someone for an entire year to playing solitaire. 

*** That’s right I just went Moby Dick on you bitches. 

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One thought on “The Story of My White Whale

  1. Pingback: Birthday Edition: How to With Courtney | Single Chicks Blog

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