Things Black Women Secretly Hate About Men

 We hate when you do this in public. A-Rod couldn’t get away with this and neither can you. Please refrain.

 Caution: Only proceed if you can handle the truth.

 We hate it when you do manual labor with your sag in full view. This is just terrible. Pull your pants up!!

 Dirty nails. Wow. Are you running a mud pie bakery on the side? Wash your hands before you come anywhere near us.

We hate your dirty crib. Yes, you’re the man. Don’t be the man that lives in a garbage can. We shouldn’t smell your crib from the curb. We’re not asking you to be B. Smith, but please, throw a little pine sol on the floors every now and then. Toss out that smelly takeout. Change the linen in your room. By the way, we should never encounter the faint scent of another’s perfume lingering in the air if you want to know us better.

We hate it when you check out other women in our presence. You’re human, we get that. Learn the art of stealing a glance, and not turning your head to undress her with your eyes.

 We hate it when you tell us what you’re going to do, and then you forget or neglect to do it.

 We hate it when you obviously bring your ex’s favorite moves into our bedroom. Ask us what we like, don’t assume that we like what she liked.

 We hate your metal grill. We can appreciate that you’ve invested the equivalent of a year’s college tuition on your teeth, (or teefs, depending on what part of the country you live in) but kissing a metal mouth is generally speaking, frowned upon.

 We hate your shoe collection and the immense joy it brings you.(DoubleStandards.com)

 We hate Boys Night Out. Nothing good can come from all of this chicanery.(DoubleStandards.com)

 We love your mother, she nursed you, taught you and set you free into the world to find your own way. We tolerate your Big Momma, that overbearing mother who screens your calls, washes your clothes and cooks your meals several days a week. Grow a pair, will you? Cut the umbilical cord already Momma’s Boy

We hate it when you brag about your sexual prowess, as if you were porn star Brian Pumper. And there’s only one!

There’s only one Brian Pumper.

 We hate it when you fake your riches, like with this fake ATM receipt that strategically lands in our lap when it falls out of your wallet. Classy!

 We hate it when you’re indecisive about where you want to be. Don’t play games.

 We hate the vengeful man. So what if things don’t work out. Must you hit Facebook with the news of our breakup? Must you deploy those nasty Tweets? Grow up and get over it. We surely did.(DoubleStandards.com)

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