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“Nah, ma-ma. No judgment. I think you deserve to get ya mind right ‘n’ do better. You already lost him. The day you let him dog you out, the moment you accepted his disrespect, he checked out on you. And if you want the truth, you’ve been reduced to being his in-house cum dump. So if that’s all you aspire to be, then my advice, baby…strap up ‘n’ hope he doesn’t bring you home something you can’t get rid of. Next caller. You’re on the air…”
“Hey, boo. This Marquita. I’m a Sideline Ho. And PROUD of it! What? My man pays my bills and gives me the dic—bleep, then goes home to his wife and kids. And trust. I got my shit together. I’m not some broke, uneducated chick. And I’m not the problem, or his wife’s problem. He is. His stupid-ass wife knows he’s a filthy-ass pig, yet she chooses to stay with him knowing he’s out here breaking his wedding vows to her. Stupid ass.”
“Wow. And you’re good with being the sidepiece?”
“Yup. Why wouldn’t I be? I get the benefits of having the man without having the drama and headaches of his lying, cheating-ass ways. At the end of the day, I might be on the sideline, but I can drop him at any time and move onto the next. These silly-ass chicks always wanna blame the other woman, like we’re the enemy. No, hun. You’re sleeping with him. You’re sucking him. You’re having his babies. If anything, you’re the one doing too much. If you ask me, most of them dumb-ass hoes should be celebrating the sidepieces. We’re the ones giving her man stress-free sex ‘n’ most times keeping him from coming home and beating her ass.”
I blink. “Well, damn, baby. Tell us how you really feel.”
“Ha. Truth hurts, boo. Them hoes married cheaters. Don’t blame me for him cheating. Most of these tricks know what kind of man she has before she marries him or lets him knock her up. So why they stay acting surprised that he’s out getting his creep on is beyond me!” She laughs. “All I’ma say to them stupid hoes is, see you in divorce court or the STD clinic!”
Click.
“Well, daaaaayum. She had some real fire in her veins, huh? I guess she told us.” I laugh. “Yo, but on the real, like it or not, some of what she says is truth.” I let ’em know we’re going into a quick break. “But before we do, riddle me this: how many of you beauties who’re being cheated on have played the other woman? Keep it gangsta, baby. What goes around comes around.”
I remove my headset as Monica’s “Sideline Ho” eases over the airwaves and check in with Marika real quick. Then hit up Carlos to see if he’s down at the studio.
I glance over at Nina and smile as Soul Children’s “I’ll Be the Other Woman” eases over the air. She’s taking them way back with this classic old-school joint. The shit cracks me up. The jump-off singing about being cool with dude cheating on his wife with her, but ain’t checking for him if he’s cheating on her too. Unfuckinbelievable. But there are plenty of broads who think like this.
I ease my headphones back on and take the next caller…
“Hi, MarSell. This is Teirra from Paterson.”
“Yo, what’s good, Teirra. What’s your situation, ma-ma?”
She sighs into the phone. “Well, sad to say, but right now I’m going through something similar to all the other callers. I’ve given my man six years of my life. Fast-forward three children and a home later, I find out he’s been cheating on me, and now I’m not sure if she’s the sideline piece, or if I am. And the crazy thing is, he’s been fu—bleep—ing her for five years. Not once has he ever given me any signs that he was cheating on
me. He’s home every night, in our bed, answers my calls whenever I call him throughout the day, and makes sure I’m taken care of in and out of the bedroom.”
“Damn. How’d you find out?”
“The bitch called me at my job! She said she couldn’t take the lies and fakeness anymore and thought it was time we had a talk woman to woman. And you won’t believe what she had the audacity to say to me.” She doesn’t give me a chance to ask. “That whore told me I needed to let him go because he was no good for me. That he doesn’t want me. That bitch wants me to leave my man ’cause he’s no-good for me, but he’s good enough for her. Bitch, please.”
“So whatchu gonna do?”
“I don’t know. I still love him, though.”
I cock an eyebrow and shake my head. “Yo, check it. You need to love you more, ma-ma. Unless you think you deserve to be reduced to ya man’s sidepiece, my advice: cut ya losses. Let ya Facebook gal-pal have him. Let me know how you make it. Next caller.”
“This is Raqaunnaleesha from Union.”
What the fuck?! I’m not even about to try’n pronounce that shit. “Yo, what’s good with you, ma-ma?”
She grunts. “What’s good is that dirty bitch, Marquita, calling in. I’m the wife. Always have been, always will be. Ten years. And what? That stupid ho calling-in with a buncha damn lies. Yeah, that bitch been fuc—bleep—ing my husband. But that trifling ho forgot to tell you how many times she’s tried to get pregnant by him. Yeah, Marquita, trick-ass bitch! Why you ain’t tell him how many times you fished through the trash for my husband’s used condoms, you filthy bitch! And how many times you’ve poked holes in ’em just so you can have what I got?”
“Oh, word? Daaaaamn. It’s like that?”
“Yeah, it’s like that. The thirst is real, boo. That skank-bitch knows I got a good man. And a damn good father to my two kids. And she’s jealous. Yeah, she might get the dic—bleep and she might even get a few dollars out of him, but there’s two things that bitch will never get. And that’s his baby. Or for him to put a ring on it.”
“Yo, hold up, ma-ma. Let me get this straight. So you’re good with sharing ya man, is that what you’re saying?”
“Uh, nooo. Follow the yellow brick road, boo. What I said is, that bitch will never have what I got. No matter how many times my man crawls up in her bed. Honey, get your shit together. You got on national radio and made a fool of yourself. It doesn’t matter if my man spends the night with you, his home and his heart is somewhere else. Aren’t you tired of playing the sidepiece? You disrespectful bitches need to grow up and find you your own man.”
“Um, dig, ma-ma. No disrespect. But, uh, sounds to me like you need to get your shit together as well. You’ve just made a fool out of ya’self, too. Aren’t you tired of playing the role of disrespected wife? Aren’t you tired of playing victim? You know what ya man is doing ‘n’ you sounding like one big hot mess, ma-ma. Be well, baby. Next caller…”
“Yo, fam, this ya boy, Two-Tone. Bedstuy, niggah, what? Do or Die! Stand up! I wanna give a shout-out to all my niggahs who still payin’ for pus—bleep—y after the club let out.”
I frown. Yo, this muhfucka…
