Act Like It, Dude*

Dude, stop.

The girl is fwine, man.

No typo.

That’s wine with an eff in front of it.

Not fine.

That means not sick.

This girl is sick.

Fwine.

So why we acting, like she isn’t?

Just going to stand there with a dime on your arm.

Looking like you got change to spare.

Not smiling.

Acting like she’s cool.

She don’t need no public displays of affection.

She ain’t even into that anyway.

Yeah, okay.

Better hold her hand, dude.

Do something, dude.

Before she start acting like she ain’t into that with some other dude.

Hold her damn hand, man.

Better yet.

Do more.

Kiss her.

Not to sound like Sebastian from The Little Mermaid.

Kiss the girl.

Whoa.

Whoa.

She’s yours ain’t she?

Kiss her then.

It ain’t like I’m saying, F*ck her.

F*ck her in private.

Kiss her in public.

On street corners.

Subway platforms.

And movie theater lines.

Do it old school.

Straight sixth-grade-just-started-getting-tongue-action age.

Especially when the girl looks like yours.

Especially when she’s looking at me the way she is right now.

Right behind your back.

Jack.

Still using excuses like you were never raised in a house where affection was shown.

You also were raised in a house where no one had a college degree.

Now look at you?

You have a degree.

And a fine a** woman.

A little tip I learned after college.

After we graduate, we get the job.

But it still takes work to keep the girl.

Some real work.

No half-steppin.

Half-reppin.

Go all the way in these streets.

Put in that work, dude.

Kiss the girl.

Hold her hand.

Wrap your arms around her.

Man.

Do something with her.

Let everybody see it.

Pay no attention to any of the hate.

You have love.

Act like it, dude.