He hated that every black woman he knew carried too much on them. They were like magical beings that were expected to play 10, different roles every day, often switching them at the drop of a dime, without ever missing a beat. He often wondered how they did it. How they pulled it off… The single motherhood of it all, the nighttime student of it all, the homemaker of it all, the lover, the friend, the chef, the nurse, the maid of it all. He knew she was a part of that magical, melanin club, because all black women shared that same sigh.
Give Ms. Antoinette her flowers for this paragraph. A true and heartfelt depiction of the plight of the black woman.
