As I’m sitting in this Hermz dress boutique watching my friend go back and forth between Sherri Hill gowns, I hear, faded in the background, “He Wasn’t Man Enough” by Toni Braxton and I can’t help but think how it is the anthem of my life. One: because these losers I pick never end up being man enough. Two: because the girls after me can’t understand that they are the downgrade.

Does it make me completely weird that I live for watching the downgrade? I don’t like to say that I’m the best you’re going to get, but if the one before me was a rude bitch and the one after me has a quarter of the brain cells I do, then it speaks for itself.

When I say downgrade, I don’t only mean in looks (although that’s pretty obvious). I’m also talking about personality, smarts and well her level of ratchet. So when your next girl is not as smart as I am, you’re downgrading. When she’s less interesting than I am, you’re downgrading. When her extensions are nappy and she shows cleavage, stomach and leg in the same outfit, you’re downgrading.

All those are plausible right? I do understand that they’re all subjective opinions but that’s fine because I’m completely confident that they will be true. I think it’s amusing to see it. But I have to admit, it pisses me off. No, not because I have tosee you with her but because I can’t help but think of how you placed me and her in the same category. Obviously we’re not. But anyway, like I said in the beginning, he clearly wasn’t man enough for me.