It starts with that grating feeling in the pit of your stomach, works its way up to the base of your neck, and shakes your intuition awake. Your man is seeing somebody else—you think.
Besides running up on him vigilante-style with Joey Greco and his “Cheaters” camera crew in tow, your other option is to do your own behind-the-scenes investigative work to confirm your suspicions and vindicate your snooping.
Y’all know the drill: check pants pockets, sniff shirts, rifle through car consoles, dig in gym bags, scan store receipts, crack Facebook passwords, and read text messages. Those who seek shall almost always inevitably find, so when you uncover proof of his doggishness, the first step is usually one of two things: a) confront him or b) confront the other woman.
Sometimes she’s completely unaware that dude has a girlfriend or, even worse, a wife. In that case, it’s kind of hard to hold her responsible when your man has worked just as hard to deceive her as he did to deceive you. But sometimes she’s just a bold, brash and brazen heifer who could give two pieces of nothing about y’all being in love since college, your two kids or your plans to get married next fall. She’s just trying to get hers. And that? That right there is the brand of other woman who makes you want to grab your sneakers, pop off your acrylics, snatch out your earrings and slather some Vaseline on your face. That is a woman who makes it real hard for a lady to stay ladylike.
I’m not saying that isn’t fair game. I mean, a homewrecker does open herself up to a certain brand of ‘hood justice, as archaic as it might be. But all too often, we get so completely blindsided by our hatred of the recently-discovered other woman that we forget to give just dues to the brothas who are at the whole root and source of the situations. They get to scuttle around unscathed—and in their simple little twisted man minds, sometimes convince themselves that we’re fighting over them—while our female bravado flares up, acts out, and puts all of our good, God-given common sense in a chokehold. While we’re stalking, threatening and following the side-chicks (and don’t think I don’t know that you’re doing it: calling her boss and telling him that she has crabs. Tsk tsk tsk. Shame on you!), the dudes are relishing in their adventures and becoming the #1 storytellers at the barbershop because we fail to throw the whole blame and responsibility at them, not the fool broads they slept with.
Had the man kept his penis in its compartment, you could have spent this valuable time shopping or eating or making love or knitting a sweater or doing a floor puzzle or any other doggone thing you wanted to do aside from having your heart crushed and feeling the need to beat another woman to a pulp in order to defend your honor. There were two people in the relationship: you plus him. So while it may seem like a natural reaction to attack the intruder, the real individual to address would be your now-former boo.
As far as I’m concerned, confronting the side chick is one big, long, sometimes bloody and bail-money-needing vent. It’s a temporary distraction from acknowledging the pain of being played by someone we love—or at least kind of care about—and an opportunity to take it out on the jerk who infiltrated your life while your guard was down. But I think that there’s more regret than affirmation when it comes to rolling up on the other woman.
Text her if you must. Call her, stop by her job, mail her a letter, keep setting off the motion detector in front of her house if it makes you feel better. But don’t forget to put the man who was the reason y’all met in the first place on the same kind of aggravation installment plan.
In fact, make his a double.