So, I happen to be Black. The boy I’m seeing at the moment ? He is not. Generally, I don’t give matters like this much thought but with the recent return of my college buddies, I’ve gotten loads of intellectual commentary. “Apparently, Black women are the accessory of the season,” declared one such amiga, “but I haven’t seen it yet.”

Apparently, someone up there wanted to prove Ms. Shermaine wrong; now, everywhere I go with my fellow, I see other couples made up of the same composition. On the 4th of July, we found ourselves on the L train, literally paralell to three other interracial couples – kinky haired girls and straight haired boys, all hipsters. But, y’know, the good kind of hipsters.

I remember a conversation I had about a year ago up at school, where a girl from Philly declared how rare it was to see actual interracial couples on the street, holding paws. Mixed-racers were beyond the pale but if you were all one thing, you should stick to people who are all the same one thing as yourself. Now, I didn’t really believe that about Philly but I’ve never felt that way about our city. But recently, its just been an outpouring of love all over the place – blacks, browns, oranges, greens, purples, yellows, peaches, pears, all talking and laughing and being happy together.

Another generation or three, and we could be a whole island of Polynesian-looking, multi-ethnics. Let’s drink to that!