“Can you be more natural?” “What do you mean?” I asked my boyfriend of fewer than six months. I tried to conceal my thoughts with a Stepford Wives meets Serial Mom smile. Here's the thing: I was already the most natural I’d ever been in my entire life. Yes, my hair was straight, but it was only a temporary effect created with my flat iron and blow dryer. I didn’t wear hair extensions, fake nails, or makeup. I’d never had plastic surgery! From my crazy eyes, he could tell that my inner monolog switched from ‘quirky brown girl’ to ‘angry black woman.' Cue: hand clapping, finger pointing, and neck rolls. See, interracial dating was new for me. I anxiously searched for signs of being tokenized. I was secure in my blackness and was not here for men looking to cure their Jungle Fever or feed their low key melanin fetish. “Can you be more natural?” his words rang in my mind as I soaked in the tub. Should I? I removed my shower cap. Reaching for the nearest towel, ...

“ Now I weight approx. 325 lbs.” Flashback to one month earlier. My birthday was coming up, and I’d decided to venture into online dating with the hopes of landing a date before the end of April.  In an age where Tinder and Grindr are things, I thought choosing OkCupid would be the smart option for quality dates. Wrong! Had I searched the net for ‘OkCupid horror stories’ or watched MTV’s  Catfish  I would have known to set the bar low. Way low. Low like dig a hole and bury it. Very quickly I learned not to respond to messages that had even a hint of sexual innuendo. Sir, how dare you send me a “Hey, sup?” like I’m some common Jezebel! Right before I gave up hope, Roberto messages me. I check out his profile. We’re a meh match and I’m not physically attracted to him. But, since he didn’t hit me with the eggplant in the first go, I figured I’d respond. He’s regular. Aside from being prone to write days of scripture, he’s regular. I think,  maybe...