There he was.
The sack of crap my friend had been telling me about for months. The one at the center of every drama-filled story she had shared with me. Oh, how terribly his demeanor vexed me! I was appalled as he stood there trying to appear innocent and welcoming-as if I should be happy to meet him.
Hmph. If he only knew! I would have preferred cleaning the dirt from someone else's toenails than meet him but I wanted to appease my friend. The idea of us coming face-to-face made her happy.
I was reluctant but ready to fake my way through the next hour or so. I had become quite the pro at keeping my cool. I stood calmly and walked toward him. Slowly. Step by step. Then suddenly my slap-a-ho gear kicked in and before he could think the words "oh shit" my fist was attacking his face!
He fell. I fell on top of him. I could hear my friend screaming my name. I could hear him screaming for help! At least he was smart enough to know that retaliating would only result in more dire consequences (nice way of saying a worse ass-whooping).
We looked like Simba and Mufasa battling except I was the only one swinging. Better yet, like Ike and Tina. Remember in the movie What's Love Got to Do With It, when Tina jumped Ike in the car after tiring of his mess? She finally found the nerve to Tango! Well I, too, was fed up and decided to do what my friend should have done long ago!
Boy oh boy, I was enjoying myself! The amount of enjoyment should have been embarrassing. Every punch, every slap, every scratch felt better and better. Yippee-ki-yay mofo! I had found my calling. My new purpose was to avenge the hurt of every woman by kicking the egos of the men responsible.
"I Feel Pretty" was blasting from my internal radio speakers. I felt pretty. l felt strong and satisfied. As much as I loathe violence, this moment was orgasmic and tasted better than Reese Cups! However, nothing lasts forever.
All too abruptly, my pleasantly belligerent contact with his face was over. Some force was separating us and my Mike Tyson moment was ending. I realized that I had to accept whatever lesson my fists had taught him.
Handcuffs, a police report, and a restraining order later, I was forced to contemplate the example I was setting for my kids. I wrestled with the feeling of euphoria and the weight of guilt. Did my actions make me a terrible mother or a horrible friend? Both? If I still had a friend after such a fiasco, would she still love me? Surely, she understood my plight.
Before I could crowd my mind with more questions or allow guilt to further consume me, I heard my friend's voice. First faintly. Then loudly. "HELLO!" she said to me, while waving her hands in my face. "What are YOU daydreaming about girl?"
Her words snapped me back to reality. I couldn't believe and deep down didn't want to accept that it had only been a daydream. Yet, there we were still sitting in our cozy booth at the restaurant. There was no sack-of-crap boyfriend, no police, and no victory for me.
"So will you hang out with us so you can finally meet him?" she asked excitedly.
Her words stung like a thousand hornets in my ears. If she was only aware of the fantasy I'd just had about meeting her man's face, perhaps she would've had a change of heart. However, because she wasn't aware of it and because I couldn't disappoint her, I gave the good 'ole "okay."
I sat there squeezing my glutes together like I was trying to choke a snake and cringed at the thought. Then my fake smile turned into a sly grin as I thought of my fantasy and all of the possibilities.
"When would you like me to meet him? I've been waiting for this a long time." My words were slick and greasy like a downtown pimp. I had an agenda for sure. Can you tell?
I guess you'll have to wait for me to regale you with all the juicy details to learn how it all turns out. Or, you'll read about it in the police report.
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