**unedited and subject to change before release**
Angela Bassett Moment:
The full-sized bookcase headboard bed that had been handed down to me by my mother years ago had been replaced with a king size white diamond sleigh bed. Even more noticeable than the beautiful bed was the black and white zebra print comforter set-which was accented by hot pink decorative pillows- and the dozen or so shopping bags that set on top of it. I could definitely tell that a woman had a hand in the bedroom décor because Mike is a man’s man and there’s no way he would ever choose such a girly look for the bedroom if it were left up to him; nor would he wear the Nicki Minaj Pink Friday perfume and makeup that was scattered on top of the dresser.
My breathing increased and I began seeing red. So, he’s moved his whore up in my house already, huh?! I walked over and looked inside the bags on the bed. There were items from Victoria’s Secret, Bath & Body Works, and Pink Oasis- a store that sold slutty clothes to THOT’s around the world. To chicks like Daphne, this store was their version of Lord & Taylor. I emptied the items out of the Pink Oasis bags and studied the tacky mesh jumpsuits and skin-tight pattern print mini-dresses, all in loud colors.The one I have in my hand at the moment is a black tube dress with hip cutouts that leaves little to the imagination. Mike had obviously treated her to a shopping spree at the mall, because the receipts showed the last four digits of his debit card number, which had been used to purchase this stuff. Really, Mike?! I’m not a prude, by any means…but I would never wear this stuff. I don’t know any respectable woman who would.
I spent the next several minutes perusing the other bags and the countless Payless shoe boxes on the bed. My husband cheated on me with a hooker who wears cheap dresses and Payless shoes? Even worse than that, he’s moved her up in the house-MY HOUSE-and has her sleeping in a brand new bed, when he knew damn well the bed we’d shared was so old and uncomfortable, we could feel the springs in our backs. The loud, irritating squeaking noises the bed made every time we moved prevented us from ever getting a good night’s sleep.
My nostrils flared as I looked around the room. He couldn’t upgrade his wife, but he didn’t seem to have a problem upgrading his whore, who has definitely made her presence made around my house. I remember when I asked him for $20.00 one day to put gas in the car and he acted like I’d asked his ass for two million dollars. I still get mad when I think about how he acted all huffy with me, like he didn’t want to give me the money when he’s the one who drove my car and used all my damn gas anyway. Then he had the nerve to throw the money down on the table at me- like he expected me to fetch it like a dog or something- instead of putting it in my hand. “Nah, if that’s your attitude, you can keep your money,” I’d told him. And he didn’t hesitate to pick it up and put it back in his wallet. Cheap bastard!
‘Oh, but you can treat ol’ girl to shopping sprees at the mall with no problem, huh Mike? Oh, okay!’ I talked out loud to myself as if Mike were standing in the room with me.
I went on a rampage, tearing up and destroying anything my eyes set sight on. Tears mixed with snot ran down my face, but I didn’t care at the moment. I continued to talk to myself out loud- just like Angela Bassett did in my favorite movie, Waiting To Exhale– as I destroyed all of Daphne’s things: ‘After all I’ve done for this negro, this is how he repays me? I screwed his ass when he wanted it…however he wanted it; cooked his meals, washed his funky ass drawers, smelled his stank farts when he passed gas in his sleep. Where was Ms. Thang at when he had a common head cold, yet he acted like his ass had pneumonia and was about to die? Was she the one slaving over the hot stove, cooking him a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup just like his mama used to make for him, because he claims he simply can’t eat the stuff out of the can? Hell nah! Was she the one he called into the bathroom to squeeze the nasty infection out of the pimples and blackheads that he got often from him bacne flair ups? Fuck nah! Was she the one who was patient with him and held him down every time he was ‘between jobs’ and didn’t have money to help pay the rent? I think not. Damn you, Mike.’
I felt myself getting dizzy a few minutes later. Tired and out of breath, I let my body slide down the wall until my butt hit the floor. I sat and cried, using my sleeve to wipe my face. I effed this room up, that’s for damn sure. The words to Jazmine Sullivan’s song, Bust Your Windows came to mind: ‘After five whole years of this bullshit…gave you all of me and you played with it..’ Yep, that’s exactly how I’m feeling right now. Am I wrong? Maybe. But imagining the look on Mike’s face when he sees the mess I’ve made makes me feel better. Hell, he’ll be alright, and she will too. They’d better be lucky I got tired, because there’s a whole lot of more damage I could do.
I sat for a minute and caught my breath, but the tears kept falling. Here I was, thinking I’ve been a good wife, and Mike has been out laying it low and spreading it wide somewhere else. My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. It’s Simone. I wasn’t going to answer her at first, but maybe talking to her will calm my nerves.