So, you are in your fifties and you find someone to love who loves you back (hard to find these days). You get married and you settle down in your apartment. Hey, neither of you are spring chickens and you know that this is time to be enjoyed.
However, you begin to notice that your husband is going to visit neighbors an awful lot, but you’re not invited. Then you realize…he’s visiting another woman:
Wife: Bubba! You in there?! Bubba! Watchya doin’ wit dat woman!?!? (That’s how I imagine my angry, man been-cheatin’-on-me-voice.)
Husband (inside to the other woman): Dangit! (Well, I’m keeping it clean.) What is she doing here? How did she find me? I mean, we are in the same apartment complex, but geez, you’d think she wouldn’t figure out which apartment I was visiting.
Other woman: Youze stoopid! (That’s how they talk around here, right?)
Wife: Open up the door before I kick it in, you lousy excuse for a man!
Husband: You can huff and puff all you want “Aunt Esther!” I ain’t lettin’ you in! (In my imagination, Redd Foxx-isms tend to creep up.)
Other woman: (Opening the door…) What the heck is your problem with my husband!?!?!?! You, you jezebel.
Wife: Your husband? Why I’ve been married to this guy for three years!
Other woman: I repeat: What are you doing calling on my husband of 22 years?
Husband: (Sneaking out of window to escape the wrath of two women.)
Don’t worry folks there are few things I have tried hard to avoid and after seeing what my mom went through (Yes, I can remember back to my mom catching my dad chasing his girlfriend down the street to “come back”…I was with her–parents still married and living together at that time), and that is a cheater. And while I haven’t always steered clear of men not of my faith, I’ve adopted that rule, hard and fast, the past five years or so. Not that I’ve had any dates or anything, but it is something in the Bible that I need to follow.
I figure, if “he” messes with me, he’ll have God to answer to, and then I won’t have to turn into Aunt Esther. Swinging a purse around is so unlady-like.
Have a good day…keep ’em in your pants (or something like that…goes for the women-folk, too).