“So, where’s this couch?” I asked and scanned the room, desperately hoping he didn’t tell a white lie to get me into bed with those emerald green eyes.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just did laundry today and the dryers ran really slow. I didn’t have time to put everything away,” he apologized and moved a huge stack of laundry baskets off of a red plaid couch with wooden trim.
“Grandma’s hand me downs?” I scoffed, hoping the worn fabric wasn’t the kind of wool hell bent on scratching every inch of your skin off or full or bedbugs.
“Worse. Grandpa’s. Grandma at least had taste, but she would never give a hand me down. She would require payment. ‘You have to work for everything you get, nothing comes free that’s worth having,’ she always said. Annoying, but true.”
“Wow, she sounds very strict.”
“I don’t think I’d call her strict, but a product of hard work and beating the odds. She worked really hard to get where she is and she doesn’t believe in just giving hard work away to anyone,” he replied.
“Anyone? You’re her grandson, though. What did she do — invent the world’s best toilet paper or something?”
Note to self: Do not make smart ass comments moving forward.
“Something like that. She created a line of cosmetics for African American women that actually matches their skin tone. It’s sold in almost all major department stores. She started the brand when she was only 21, at a time when she couldn’t even vote, in her sister’s garage because she didn’t have a place of her own yet. No one would rent to a single black woman. They called her a risk. ‘Rent to one of you and the rest will all come,’ they told her. She had to fight a lot to get recognition or to convince the world a black woman should be taken seriously in business. Now she’s worth over $550 million.”
My jaw dropped. “Holy moly. That’s an amazing story. What does she think about you living here?”
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