Just when I was about to cross into the "Land Of I Don't Give A F*ck About You No Mo''",
Pretty Brown sends me some texts:
"I know I shouldn't be texting you but..."
"I truly miss you"
"I should have called..."
DAMN YOU BILLY PRETTY BROWN!!
I was there. I was right there. I had traveled the yellow brick road and passed the City of Sadness, The Borough of Regret, and strolled down streets like "You're A Dumb Ass Way" and "You Got Played Boulevard." But I was making a serious breakthrough. The cloud had lifted.
I was just about to click my heels, make my wish, and lay his azz to rest.
But then...he appeared.
Messing with my head all over again.
(Stop looking at me like that Billy Pretty Brown!!!)
DAMN!!! (oh I already said that)
(If I write the whole word I'll have all types of freaky muthafuccas hittin' this blog. More than I already do. They already come here enough from Googling 'ass' and 'blow job' as it is.)
Just when you are on the brink of getting over somebody, how do they know when the precise moment is to come sliding back? It really is a phenomenon.
I told the therapist about it two days later. She’s funny. She said that men seem to sense when you’re about to be over their azzes, and they know exactly when to call or text. She said it’s like a three or four week thing, because by that time they figure if you were mad you probably won’t be anymore.
"They just know", she said.
Like they know when to stop calling after they figure out you diggin’ them.
Like they know when to start acking up when it’s close to your birthday or a holiday.
Like they know to keep you on a text only basis because it’s easy to control shyt that way.
Like they know how to get out of your crib after sexing you with some crazy story about they momma need cornmeal to fry her fish and she ain't got no one to get it for her.
They just know.
Anyway it’s just words. Words. Words.
Words with no actions behind them.
And I ain’t falling for that shyt again.
I like him, but I like myself more.