Thursday, February 18, 2010

To the Other Brother..

Frequently, I treat relationships like traffic. I’m the traffic conductor, and men are the cars. So when I tell them to stay in their lane, they do. When I flag them down, they yield to my attention and pull over. When I think it’s time for us to put on the brakes, we stop.

Many of my girlfriends adhere to these rules. So you can imagine my confusion when, while chatting it up with one the other night over some wine, she tells me about this brother she is seeing who just can’t seem to stop at red lights.

It’s as if she was flashing her hazards to get my attention!

“Give me details”, I say. I’m ready to read him his rights.

"I'm just not that into him. You know, like that movie?” she begins. “I've got a man already, so he was just there as a perk. He was the other brother. I thought it would be fun."

She looks a little frazzled. I mean, who wouldn’t be? This guy is in clear violation of all the rules. And beyond that, she’s annoyed, her hair is falling out, and her new fresh minx manicure is chipping. “All stress,” she says. The game is getting to her.

I’m immediately concerned. I act accordingly, and run down a list of questions.


Let’s call him the other brother.

“How’d you meet”?

Out one night with the girls.

“Did you tell him you had a man?”

Yes! Immediately. I didn’t think he would stick around.



Good sex?


What’s he been doing?

Ugh. Bothering me. Emails, texts, phone calls. I told him to stay out of my way when I’m with Mr. Man. He doesn’t get it. He’s an emotional one. Momma’s boy.

Agh. Emotions. Those suckers always put a glitch in the system. Ok, so his violation is obvious. Girl has guy. Girl meets another guy. And guy oversteps his boundaries. A compulsory violation.

And then I do what I have been known to do in the past. I issue a citation for her to give to him. It goes like this:

Subject: Breach of Contract
Background: No priors. 1st Offense

Dear Mr. Other Brother,

I simply cannot wrap my mind around why I kept you be in my life for oh so long. Though your strong back, chiseled physique and flirtatious smile kept you on my list of cuties for quite some time. You simply do not make the cut.

Your constant calls and texts annoy me. It's like I have another man, and I really just can't deal with your emotions. Let's make one thing clear, you are not, nor will ever be, my man. That title is reserved for the one who has it now. Besides, why would I leave my large caramel frapachino with extra whip cream, for a mere black coffee? It doesn't make sense.

And please remember, you are the "other brother". I thought we discussed that you were going to play your position accordingly. My man fulfills my every need, and on your best day, you're simply mediocre.

And I'm not talking about the sex; it did what it was supposed to do. I guess. But, it's 2010 and I think you need a reality check. These little games you play are wack at best, and in reality when you think you've won the checkers game, you find out we're really playing chess.

And please spare me the macho shit about how you got in my draws. Here's breaking news: I let you. Nothing went down that I didn't want. Game recognize game brother, and dare I say that you men have been messing with us sistas for years. So, how's it feel to be my bitch? Trust me, I won't be sad without you, I won't even pout when you're gone. Now that it's over I'm completely content.

Mr. Other brother, excuse me a minute while I throw on my Marc Jacob glasses, dust off my sundress, pull on my 6-inch stilettos and kick you out of my life. You never deserved me anyways. An educated woman like me definitely makes mistakes, but some days I don't even know why I let you stick around. It's sad that it took me so long to discover that I'm way more fly than any girl you will ever encounter. And to the girls you pull in the future, good luck chuck, hope they can do what I did. Ugh, the mere fact that I had you on my roster for so long would make any mother roll over in their grave. Twice.

I hope you're not salty brother. I do and always will wish you the best. It's just that when the shot clock has 15 seconds on it and you're faced with what could be the last play of the game, you do what you think is best for the team. And quite frankly, as the coach of this team, I pick the star player. And you already know the bench warmer never gets MVP.

It was fun while it lasted, I suppose. But let's wrap this up. Don't call, don't write, don't text, don't BBM, don't send me a message, don't follow me on twitter. No need to say you’re going to lose my number; I'll be changing it in the morning. Believe me, I'm over it. I'm over you.


P.S. -- I hope we can remain friends. But, well... you know how it is.

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