(Disclaimer: This is what happens when I have totally unrelated conversations with people and randomness hops in the driver’s seat. Also, this theory is based on something where I was 11 at the time—so whadoIknow??? This is purely for entertainment—not to be taken seriously unless it’s proven correct then I want full rights, mkay? )
I’m going to drop some lyrics here and you all finish them, okay? Because y’all KNOW what song I’m talking about…
Early in the morning I put breakfast on your table
And make sure your coffee has its sugar and cream…
Okay, y’all sing…
Your eggs are overeasy…
Now the chorus…belt it out…
IIIIII’m noooooooot youuuur Superwoman!
You all just don’t know how powerful that song was—but not in the way you think. See, I think it holds one of the keys to: What’s eating black women? Why are they so angry? Why are black women soooo mitchy???!! The answer has been staring us in the face the whole time. It’s been waiting patiently on iTunes for someone who is building her music portfolio for when she writes and jogs—someone who bought “Love Shoulda Brought You Home Last Night” and somehow unearthed the muffled sounds of I’mmmm nnooot yoooourrr Superwoman that had been buried for decades behind a pair of British Knights sneakers and JJ Fad cassette tape.
The bitter source has been identified…
“Superwoman” was many women’s anthem in ‘88. KW had so many belting out those lyrics in the likes of Tina Turner’s niece, Patti Labelle’s goddaughter, and Whitney Houston’s cousin and ’em. She had many women fighting their way through rush hour along side her tryna get home to make sure dinner was waiting for their men—knowing good and H well all they were going to fix were cornflakes anyway—but it didn’t matter. Those cornflakes would be sitting on that table crispy and at attention.
She single-handedly ushered–ok, ok, maybe her contribution was not a whole hand, but a thumb–in the Strong Black Woman movement on the ashes of Superwoman’s cape. Because SHE went shopping for a man and pulled out Raggedy An’Day’quan from the bargain bin, she somehow convinced a lot of black women they did the same thing. Had all of y’all side-eyeing your man over that morning toast talkin’ bout, “What’s wrong w/ the toast…huh? What? You don’t like it? Huh? Yesterday you were butterin’ it on the right side–now you butterin’ it on the left…what? The right side not toasted to your perfection?? Huh–huh??”
Black couple sitting at a table…he’s trying to read the paper (he’s clueless of course and has NO idea anything is wrong with her–how could he? He had NO idea she had that KW single tape playing at work) and she’s sitting across from the table–watching him…arms crossed, leg crossed with her slipper bopping up and down on her toe–watching and waiting for a sign, ANY sign, that he was like KW’s man. Then it happened…he took a sip of the juice, grimaced, and she sprung on him like a cheetah on a baby antelope–not knowing his expression had everything to do with him reading how bad his team lost.
“Something wrong with the juice?? Huh? What you don’t like it now? Is it sour??!” He pauses mid-chew and thinks, “What da fuuuuqqq!” because he’s expecting the Exorcist to pop up from under the table and rectify the situation.
She continues, “You want me to think I’m crazy. I know you’ve changed, but I know the problem—you don’t love me the same.”
He decides now is a good time to go to work early—he slides his eyes to the clock on the wall—yep, 1 hour early is good. He puts his toast down slowly–gets up quietly from the table. Keeping her in his visual, he backs out of the room fearful that whatever got into her would attack him and try to pull his eyeballs out through the back of his head. He’s still hungry, but it doesn’t matter. His lunch is still in the fridge behind her—he really wants that ham sandwich, too. Should he risk it? Maybe he could do a head fake like Jordan and get around her? Dive into the end zone like a running back? Nooo too risky AND he’d be cornered. Man Counsel screams in his ear, “Noooo…get out…for the love of deez nuts maayyn…GET OUT!!!!”
He stumbles backwards out of the front door and makes it to his car where he blows out air he hadn’t even realized he was holding…
With hands shaking he puts the key into the ignition just as he feels someone watching him. He whips his head around as the song from Psycho fills the car and finds her staring at him through the window—eyes blazing. He gulps and backs out of the driveway wondering, “What da fuq just happened?”
*insert the Rev’s voice from Coming to America*
She made y’aaaall think that cooking meals for your man was a sin. She made y’aaaall think that “morning kiss” wasn’t worth it. Lawd, lawd…uh…see…she made y’aaaall think YOUR juice won’t sweet. She made y’aaaaall think y’all were going through the motions..ha-ha…and HE won’t being fair-ha! She made y’aaalll feel HE was crazy, therefore YOU were crazy-haha…and now BOTH of y’all crazy. Ha! YOU needed those hugs—not OH-casional hugs—uh-unh, BUT what you needed was MO hugs. But, y’aall had your pride and y’aaall won’t gonna cry. So YOU told him—that YOU woooooooon’t gonna be HIS Superwoh-man—uh—NO MO!
*wipes brow and pauses to take a sip of water*
Ladies the forbidden fruit came in the form of a song and y’all bit into a lie.
Okay, so maybe some of you weren’t Superwoman. But, maybe some of you were. The only person Superwoman can be herself around is Superman. He admires her strength because it matches his own. He knows she can see through him because he can see through her. He knows she’s capable of leaps and bounds because while she’s leaping he’s bounding. They are a team. Some of y’all had that. Some of y’all didn’t-but it didn’t mean you couldn’t. But, some of you got so caught up in those lyrics it became your Dating Kryptonite.
Ladies…y’all fell for the okey doke. Y’all let those lyrics second-guess the goodness YOU had or could’ve had because of the badness SHE had.
KW’s pain was HER pain. But, when she marched down your street waving her Kill Superwoman baton some of y’all fell right in–high-stepping like an HBCU drum major behind a curly-head Peter Piper. She marched y’all right into your own bitterness where she left y’all hanging in the breeze like Nana’s boobs.
And why y’all were sitting on the curb shaking the dust off of your pom-poms waiting for KW to make a comeback, something else was shaking in the distance. It came thundering over the horizon like the stampede in The Lion King and all you could do was watch in horror like Simba in the gorge.
What could cause such a ruckus? What could cause such uproar? What could be powerful enough to stomp your bitterness so deep in your heart that you began to reek of it?
JLo and the SuperBooty Legion.
Here’s where the Curse of KW took an interesting turn. While y’all were high-stepping behind KW your gates were left unattended. What’s the purpose of a gate? To let things in and to let things out. Know what happens when a gate is left open? Things wander in and things wander out.
See, SuperBooty Legion wasn’t powerful, they weren’t strong, they weren’t finer, they weren’t better. No. You and the rest of your KW ilk left your men thirsty and hungry and guess who roamed through the gate looking like Christmas ham? SuperBooty.
All that black man wanted was some OJ and toast, y’all. That’s all. Dayum Gina, didn’t grannie teach y’all nuffin? Didn’t she say the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach?? See, when you’re well fed I don’t care HOW good that dish looks and smells you ain’t gonna touch it.
That’s why 27 yrs later y’all sitting at that same daggumit breakfast table with yo runny eggs and Tampico juice rocking back and forth like Miss Sophia because SuperBooty and what could’ve been YOUR tall glass of Hershey’s Syrup is waving at you from over the hedge.
Karyn White, for Foolishness in the 2nd Degree and Involuntary Bamboozlement we hereby sentence you to be dragged through Black Twitter by the Ghost of Soul-Glo Past to an empty stadium where you will not only have several seats to choose from, but be forever haunted by all of the seats your non-existent concerts never filled…’cause you ain’t right.