Hi Girlhood 🙂 I am Princessa. Not royalty—but according to my East African mother, I’ve had a crown-sized attitude since birth. Now that I’ve officially crossed into the realm of Thirty, Flirty & Spiritually Discerning, I’ve decided to do the one thing I’ve avoided longer than cardio: tell the truth. The real truth. About men. Dating. Apps. And why a Christian match named “KingEsau” had me halfway to the altar… and fully ready to fake my own death.
I live in Los Angeles—a city where the traffic is eternal, the juice is $12, and people say “blessed” in the same breath they ghost you. I’m Black, proudly East African, spiritually grounded, and well-versed in all things quality and questionable—including my dating decisions. By day, I audit systems. By night, I audit emotional availability. So in a moment of divine weakness (or curiosity—same thing), I downloaded a Christian dating app. I thought, “If God is love, maybe His algorithm works too?” and I figured, if Ruth could find Boaz in a field, maybe I could find mine with Wi-Fi.
Mixtapes and Mistakes
Enter; Abraham. Not the sandal-wearing father of nations.
No, this Abraham had a jawline sculpted by spite, tattoos of Roman numerals that meant nothing, and the spiritual depth of a lukewarm communion cup. His first message? “You got Proverbs 31 vibes, but I could turn you into Song of Solomon real quick 😏.” Was it corny? Yes.
Did I delete the app? No.
Because Jesus was my shepherd, but loneliness was my co-pilot—and the algorithm had me in a chokehold.
Our first date was at a rooftop bar where people went to take selfies, not to find salvation. Abraham walked in wearing leather pants in 82-degree weather. I didn’t know if he was being spiritually led… or just slow-roasting for attention. He ordered a drink called “The Jezebel” and said, “I only came tonight because the Holy Spirit told me someone here needed deliverance.”
Sir, this is not an altar call. It’s Happy Hour. Midway through my mojito, he looked me dead in the eye and said, “You remind me of my third ex. She was spiritually gifted but emotionally inconsistent.” I blinked. “That’s… quite a compliment.”
“You’re my assignment. I can feel it.” You know what else I could feel? Regret.
He spoke uninterrupted for 45 minutes about his rap career that “wasn’t technically launched yet,” and how “God gave him a mixtape in a dream.”
His stage name? Lil Prophet.
His tracks? “Thy Rod & Thy Staff (They Comforting’ Me)” and “Anointed but Toxic.” Then came the marriage talk. “Would you be open to fasting with me to get clarity on our marriage timeline?”
I excused myself to “check on my spirit” and called my cousin from the bathroom to fake a family emergency. As I tried to leave, he stopped me with: “You’re gonna regret walking away from this divine connection. God told me.” Maybe God told him.
But my bladder told me to run. I blocked him the next day—right after he sent a shirtless photo captioned: “Just finished praying for your womb. Let me know when you ready to be fruitful and multiply.
So, to summarize: I went looking for a man of God and got a SoundCloud prophet in leather pants, trying to turn mixtapes into ministries… and maybe snag a Proverbs 31 with benefits on the side. My first dip into the holy dating pool? Let’s just say… the water was lukewarm, and I came out baptized in regret. But I wasn’t done yet. No, sis. Because despite the red flags, rap dreams, and unsolicited womb prayers, I told myself, “At least he didn’t bring his mother on the date.” Spoiler alert:
The next one did.
……...Esau & the Minivan of Misery
………Coming up next… a man, his mom, a laminated list of Proverbs 31 requirements, ……….and one very traumatized brunch. Stay tuned. It gets weirder.
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