Shai’s ‘Comforter:’ The Ultimate Let-Me-Out-Of-The-Friend-Zone Anthem

Ladies, I’m willing to bet money that you’ve experienced this before.  You’re walking down the street, minding your own damned business, when a man approaches you.  He’s got that look in his eye; maybe he’s even rubbing his hands together and/or licking his lips.  You steel yourself for what you know is about to transpire.  He speaks.

“Hey, how you doin’ Miss Lady?”  You smile weakly, or maybe you roll your eyes, or maybe you don’t respond at all.  It doesn’t matter.  He’s got a goal; he’s locked in and focused.  He gives you a few other pleasantries (“You look nice today; “I like your hair;” “Damn, you got a fat ass,” etc.) and then gets to it.  Can he have your number?  Call you sometimes?  Maybe take you out to dinner?  No, thank you.  Why not?  You got a man?  Maybe you have one, and you respond in kind.  Or, maybe you don’t have one, but you tell him you do anyway just to get him to go away.  And then he hits you with it:

“That’s cool; we can just be friends.”

This is where your vagina, ideally, activate its security system and raise the terror threat level to magenta.

Lots of men genuinely seem to not understand the problem in trying to be a woman’s friend after she’s rebuffed their romantic advances.  The problem is this: you don’t really want to be her friend.  You want more than that, evidenced in the fact that 2 minutes ago, you were trying to take her on a romantic date to the finest Steak n’ Shake in town.  You don’t want to be her friend; you want to get your foot in the door, win her trust, wait for a vulnerable moment to exploit, then move in for the kill.

That’s essentially what Shai’s “Comforter” is about.  This song is an entire plea to be let out of the friend zone.  If this song was an actual person, his name would be Antoine.  Or Andre.  Antoinedre.  Antoinedre has an s-curl and sneakers that are always suspiciously white.

“I’m so glad we’re friends. I hope I marry someone just like you. Literally. Literally just like you. Same face, name, mom, everything.”

You and Antoinedre met under non-threatening circumstances; through a friend, or on Twitter.  You gradually become friends, and through it all, he never makes a direct pass at you… he peppers your Instagram and Facebook with comments like “damn, sis, if we were such good friends, I’d want a cup of that, LOL” and “mmm mmm look at my wife! lol jk jk jk.”  He encourages you to confide in him about all your shitty relationships, and when you finally break up with your man, Antoinedre is there waiting with open arms.  He invites you to “lay down and tell (him) what’s on your mind,” because “when you’re in pain, (he’s) in pain–that’s part of being a friend.”  Aww.  So considerate.  Soon you start to feel better and you thank Antoindre for listening.  He responds:

I’m just glad I could be here for you
When you need a helping hand

..but then:

But deep inside my heart, from the start
I know I should have been your man

And there you go.  True colors revealed.  All this time you thought he was hanging around because you’re a nice person?  Nope!  Shai & Antoinedre want something from you.  Sigh.  Don’t they always?

I don’t know what’s worse:  this sneaky, snake-in-the-grass approach, or Keith Sweat’s straight-forward, uber aggressive, repeated request for a promotion.  “(There You Go) Tellin’ Me  No Again” is essentially 5 minutes of “BUT WHY? WHY CAN’T I BE YOUR MAN?  WHY WHY WHY PLEASE WHY WHY WHY NOT COME ON PLEASE COME ON WHY.”  If this song was a person, he’d be Eldrick, the dude who stands outside of the corner store all day who asks for your number every single time he sees you, no matter how many times you tell him no.

There should be a “Let Me Out of the Friend Zone” Mixtape.  What else would be on it?