It was like the scene from “Waiting to Exhale”. You know the one at Gloria’s birthday party when Bernadine decided to call John and deservingly cuss his ass out. Usually I would be Robin in this scenario. I would be in the background yelling. Hell, I would have dialed the number and did the talking for my friend. I wouldn’t be a Shirley for myself, but I’ll definitely Shirley a Barbara for my friends. My loyalty to them is comparable to Olivia Pope and Associates…over a cliff. However, maybe it’s the past month without vodka that has me feeling so zen. I don’t know how, but I was definitely Gloria in this situation.
I snatched her phone, “Don’t call him!”
“You see that shit? He still messing with her!”
I lowkey was regretting our Facebook lurking.
I tried to be light-hearted, “Well, if it’s any constellation if it wasn’t for her caption we wouldn’t know it was him. She taking them pictures like a side-chick who wants you to know, but he refuses to actually pose for the picture.” I started to laugh, but she wasn’t here for it.
It was like music was playing and the DJ abruptly stopped it.
I was defensive immediately, “SHE CALLED YOU?”
“Texted me, telling me I was a ‘non-mothereffen factor’.”
I laughed, “You should have told her to get a better insult. That line has been so overused it’s been put on t-shirts.”
She was seething and said, “Give me my phone. I’m calling him…her.”
“I don’t think you should.”
She didn’t say anything. She just held out her hand.
I handed her, her phone. She mumbled, “bye” and grabbed her keys to leave.