Chapter 12: Granny Panties & Glamour Party

Chapter 12: "Granny Panties & Glamour Party"

Hosting a party was never part of the plan.

But when Tia suggested it, I knew it was exactly what I needed.

We were sitting at brunch, sipping mimosas and watching the sun melt over the city skyline, when she leaned across the table and said, "You've built something special, Tubo. You should celebrate it."

I laughed. "Celebrate what? My blog?"

She shook her head. "No. Celebrate you . Celebrate the women who feel seen because of you. Celebrate the ones who finally put on their favorite pair of cotton and smiled in the mirror."

Her words stuck with me.

So, I did it.

I threw the biggest, boldest, most glittery party Grandma's backyard had ever seen.

I called it "Big Panties & Big Dreams."

The guest list was a mix of family, friends, blog readers, and even a few strangers who messaged me saying they just had to be there. We strung fairy lights through the trees, set up a soul music playlist, and laid out tables filled with collard greens, fried chicken, peach cobbler, and sweet tea in gallon jugs.

Everyone was encouraged to come dressed however they felt most themselves — whether that meant high heels and fur coats, cotton dresses and headwraps, or jeans and sneakers. But there was an unspoken rule:

If you weren't proud of who you were, don't come.

And everyone who showed up was glowing.

Grandma sat in her favorite rocking chair, fanning herself with a church bulletin and humming along to Mahalia Jackson. Cousins ran around barefoot, chasing fireflies. Women danced in circles, laughing and shouting as they twirled under the string lights.

There were no judgments.

Only joy.

Midway through the night, I stood on the porch and looked out at the crowd. At the women sharing stories, the girls taking selfies in their cotton-clad glory, the men clapping along to the music like they were part of the celebration, not just spectators.

This was it.

This was what I had been missing.

Not romance.

Not validation from the outside world.

But community.

A place where people could be unapologetically themselves without fear of ridicule.

I raised my glass of sweet tea and toasted to us — to every person who had ever hidden who they were out of fear.

And somewhere in the middle of that toast, I realized something:

I wasn't broken.

I wasn't damaged.

I was becoming.

And I was surrounded by the kind of love that didn't require apologies.

Just presence.