One of the best things about Jacksonville is my best male friend.  From the moment we met, we cliqued.  He got my sense of humor, never judged me and was an absolute blast to be around.  Unfortunately, he a ho!

During my recovery period, we haven’t spoken much as I haven’t been able to do much of anything.  But I digress…

During our 30 minute or so conversation, he updated me on his new “team.”  I’m sure you’re all aware of this phenomenon where Black men brag about how many women they got.  As one brotha explained it to me…

Some brotha’s are playing tennis.  Some playing basketball.  And some got a hockey team.  You gotta make sure the players happy and that your bench is deep!

Yeah I know…JACKASS!  What this means for those who haven’t figured it out is that if you’re dating a brotha and you’re not exclusive, you may indeed be one of many.  Your importance on this “team” is determined by your position.  So if the brotha has a “basketball” team, you’re one in 5 (excluding the bench which might be in regular rotation).  And if you’re a point-guard, oh hell, you beat out all them other hoes and he regards you as his bottom bitch…his ride-or-die chick or whatever other stupid analogy you can think of.  Lucky You!

Years ago when I first became aware of how pervasive this phenomenon was, I decided what the hell.  I ain’t sexin’ nobody so why the hell not get my own team?  As Aretha and Annie said…

So I admittedly started shelving the normal discriminatory practice of not having a phone, being married or totally ignoring a guy who asked for my number that  I wasn’t interested in.  I mean, it’s just a date right?  Everybody, present company included, could use some food.  And just because he feeds ya, don’t mean you gotta do nothin so why not get dinner and a movie?

For the next 6 months or so I went out on so many dates with so many men.  In the interest of keeping it real, I only hunched one of them.  Anyhoo, I found myself having to juggle these dudes to the point where I was having lunch with this one and dinner with that one.  I stopped answering my phone because God knows if I had to talk to all of them, I’d never get anything done and given that every conversation ended with “When can I take you out,” I damn near needed a secretary to keep track of everyone.

I gradually got bored though.  I didn’t necessarily want something more.   I honestly wanted less!  I was tired of having to dodge folk and saying things like, “Oh baby, I meant to call you but you know…work…”  So I gave up the lifestyle and retreated into my shell to the point where almost everyone went away.  A few of them still call and I find that odd given I only hugged them dudes but I digress…

Minus the one brotha I hunched, the rest of them got the pleasure of my company and the opportunity to buy me food and entertainment.  My team worked well and no one got hurt as they weren’t aware of each other and minus the one, we weren’t sharing bodily secretions…kissing or otherwise.  But this is how a sista plays the game…a sista with self-respect cause some of yall be layin’ with multiple dudes and that’s just nasty!

Some brothas…most in fact, who play the game are reckless with theirs.  They don’t always protect their players and wrap it up.  They take their MVP’s for granted.  They even get lazy and let the team huddle forgetting that these sistas don’t know they’re wearing the same jersey!

Now despite the dogged nature of men who play games under the guise of “dating,” I put a lot of fault on us women.  They may be stupid but the dumber they are, the smarter we should be.  Instead, the dumber they get, the more women who end up on the short bus.

I can’t tell you how many of my friends are knowingly sharing a man.  Whether they caught the brotha outright or he told them straight up, I got an ol’ lady, far too many sistas disrespect themselves and women as a whole when their need for rare companionship alludes sane, rational thought.

One of my friends recently said…

If he ain’t married, he’s fair game.  I mean he ain’t got no ring on his finger so we can do what we do.

Women didn’t fight long and hard for us to merely have the right to destroy ourselves in the process.  If a man tells you that he’s dating someone else and asks if you’re ok with it, what he’s really saying is “Are you ok with less than 100%?“  In other words, how much do you value yourself?  How little are you willing to accept in a relationship?

If he’s with her, he can’t be with you. And if he can’t be with you, you may indeed be with someone else but those bits and pieces of yourself that you spread around result in your feeling and being itty bitty.

To make matters worse, some of your dumb asses brag to the men you’re with that he’s not the only one!  Are you IN-FREAKING-SANE? You can’t make a ho a housewife and if you want to at least be treated like the best bitch, play the damn part!

Ain’t no man impressed that you got pull.  He know you got pull…that’s why he still mess with yo ass.  Game respects game and a woman with good game plays silently.  There’s nothing wrong with playing the field but only you need know about it.

On the real ladies, a man can’t love and respect you…us, if you don’t respect yourself.  The moment we make it ok to be treated as less than the 100% women we are, the more we deserve to be dogged, humiated and destroyed.

So it may sound strange but I don’t fault these brothas for not marrying us, for not wrapping it up, for calling us out our names.  Why?  Because before we check them, we need to check ourselves.  We need to hold each other accountable for OUR nastiness, OUR stupidity and OUR acceptance of what it really means to be treated like a bitch!