I decided I should perhaps do a series of blog posts on what it’s like to be a white guy married to a black woman.  I’m going to preface this first one with the caveat that what I say, mention, allude to, imply, etc are all my own experience, and do not necessarily reflect anyone else’s experience.  Also, there’s still a lot I’m learning, but the biggest thing I’ve learned so far is that being married to a black woman is pretty much the same as being married to a white woman, with a few minor exceptions, but we’ll get into those later.

I’ll start off by mentioning that before I married Michelle, I was previously married to two different white women (not at the same time, obvi).  Neither of those marriages worked out, and for the sake of these posts, the reasons are irrelevant.

Michelle and I met while I was stationed in Virginia via the help of two different dating sites: and, as we started talking on there, I happened to run into another profile she had on Yahoo dating, and emailed here there as well with, “Hey!  I know you!”

We had a lovely first date at Waterside in downtown Norfolk, VA and discovered we had a TON in common.  She is probably the first woman I’ve ever met who I consider actually competition to me in the area of nerdiness.

The big question: did I date/marry her BECAUSE she’s black?  I actually get asked that quite often, a lot more often than I would think (purportedly) intelligent life on Earth would consider asking, usually in the form of “Oh, you like the dark meat, huh?  Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more.”

Before I answer, I’d like to personally invite anyone who is actually stupid enough to ever ask that question (or even consider asking it) to go into the bathroom, look yourself in the eye in the mirror, and repeatedly slap yourself as hard as you possibly can until the consideration of asking the aforementioned question leaves your brain in the form of blood.

No, I did not marry her because she’s black.  I dated, then married, her because we really clicked, made an amazing connection, fell in love, and wanted to build a life together.  And because she’s fucking hot.  That really helped.  But the color of her skin, her ethnicity, none of that ever even entered into the equation.  And it still doesn’t (except when I want to crack a joke so I can watch her eyes roll – which is probably a lot more often than she’d like).

Now I’m going to be honest here and say that, when we started dating, I was not yet legally divorced from the second wife, however, we had been legally separated for two years, and were waiting on the court process.  This has caused a lot of hate and discontent from my ex-wife, who, apparently, still thought we were getting back together.  I’m not sure how that was going to happen if we were separated by six states, but whatevs.  It has also caused a lot of hate and discontent within my own family, who, for some reason, let her run to them with every whine and bitch about how I was fucking up, but I wasn’t allowed to say anything because “they didn’t want to get caught in the middle”.

I’m going to end this post there.  Yes, I realize that my last paragraph sounds like I’m bitter about that situation, and I’m not gonna lie; I am, at least a little.  I was raised believing blood was supposed to be thicker than water.  Apparently not.  The good news is that Michelle’s family has adopted me as one of their own, and I don’t think I will ever be able to express how truly grateful I am to them for doing so.  Michelle taught me a saying that her family uses: There’s blood, and then there’s family.

That’s why I work so hard on myself and on our relationship.  If anything were to ever become between Michelle and I, I don’t just risk losing her (and that WOULD be an immense loss, make no mistake!); I risk being truly on my own.

Next post:  Impressing Her Dad.  Dun dun DUNNNNNNNNN!


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