Should Have Known Better

“Oh, you mean the new metrosexuals?”

Sasha and I laughed as Reginald looked on confused.

“What, you don’t know any men like that?” Sasha asked him.

“Afraid I don’t.”

“And that’s a good thing,” I said, patting him on the back.

“Then there are the married men who are dating,” Sasha went on, “and the dating men who never want to get married.”

“Come on; it can

’t be that bad,” I insisted.

Sasha sat back and twisted the fork in what was left of her tiramisu.

“No, there are some bright spots . . . there was Derrick. . . . We even got as far as picking out an engagement ring.”

“See, that’s promising.” I winked at Sasha.

“Yeah, it was very promising. Until I realized I was paying for the ring myself. That joker had five kids and five baby mamas—all of whom were deep into him for back child support!”

Reginald was the only one who laughed then.

“Five?” I repeated.

“Five!” she confirmed. “Well, I only knew about two at first—and you can’t hate a thirty-five-year-old man for having two kids—but then it seemed like every time we had a heart-to-heart his heart needed to open up about another kid. I was in too deep to kick him to the curb. But then, I realized he was broke. That was it for me.”

Reginald looked at me.

“Then there was Arthur. He was a painter.”

“Oh, an artist!” I perked up.

“Um . . . negative. He painted houses. He was more broke than Derrick, but I’d just turned thirty-three. I was feeling bad about being single and took a chance. He was good to me. Moved in. Painted my whole house—outside and inside.”

“Resourceful!” I tried, cutting a second slice of tiramisu for Reginald’s empty plate.

“Yeah, but then he painted my neighbors’ house and slept with them, too.”

Reginald kicked me under the table.

“Who knew he could fuck two lesbians?” Sasha added.

“Lesbians? Well, be glad you got rid of him. He sounds like a jerk.”

“Or the luckiest man in the world,” Reginald mumbled and I kicked him back harder. “Ouch!”

“Well, I took him back. I figured moving would fix that little ditty. But then he slept with my assistant.”

“He was a womanizer!” I said.

“No, girl; my assistant was a man,” Sasha revealed, crumbling to the table in defeat and bouncing her head against the wood.

“That’s awful,” I said, reassuring Sasha by rubbing her hand from across the table. “I can’t believe he was a . . . a gay man who also slept with lesbians.”

“And painted houses,” Reginald added before I kicked him again.