As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve been a side chick a time or two…or three. And unlike the title suggests, being the side chick to a man with a “baby momma” isn’t like a 30-minute episode of Friends. Being a side chick in itself is not for the faint at heart; I can respect the sister who takes pride in playing this role and is happy with her “non-title title.” But my tale as “the other woman” started unbeknownst to me.
After months of bad timing, Gregory and I finally started to date. I was excited and nervous. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but right before Greg and I would get ready to start our love affair something (or someone) would leave him too occupied to tend to our flirtationship. After he’d finish handling his “business,” as he’d refer to it, we’d lose so much time that we’d have to practically start our courtship over.
Greg was always distracted. He assured me that he, like myself, was as single as a Pringle, but my female intuition kicked into high gear. Something was up with my Loverboy.
As women, it’s practically built into our DNA to be top notch, grade-A investigators. Something smells fishy? We can locate the smell. Someone’s lying? We can find the snake. And if a man is cheating, so help him! – we’ll find out before he takes another step toward another vagina (or dick). We’re problem solvers, no doubt. In order to be a good problem solver, aside binge watching Law & Order reruns on TV, we have to learn to assess a situation, gather our clues and get down to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on when we’ve been done dirty. And my Spidey gal senses were tingling.
If you’ve ever been cheated on, you know the saying “if you go looking for something, you’re damn near bound to find something.” And I did after some “investigative work” aka social media stalking. I read some of the flirtatious comments Greg had posted under the profiles of Thirst Traps (women who purposely post a provocative picture to get attention and likes), searched through his tagged photos, looked over his status updates, and struck gold.
I knew that he had a child. I also knew that said child had a mother. What I didn’t know was that said mother and Greg were not only friends on social media but on good terms.
Greg would only feed me tidbits of his life as a proud father and the toils of dealing with his daughter’s mother (a woman he CONSTANTLY said he did not get along with.) So imagine my surprise when I saw he sent heart emoticons and kissy faces to the woman he always bashed.
I took a screen grab of their casual yet chummy (a little too chummy) conversation as evidence of his deception. Then the real work began. I got exactly what I needed form Greg within just a few weeks. Because some guys manage to underestimate the true depth a woman can go to find out if she is being played. Besides, a “distracted” man who is juggling two women is hardly consistent.
While out on a date, I headed in for the kill, to nail Greg’s ass to wall (figuratively of course, I am a lady after all). At first, I was calm. Had I been given the chance (and free pass) I probably would have yanked Greg’s balls off. BUT… I didn’t. Baby momma called and Greg did as he had done so many times before – excused himself and walked into a room closing the door behind him. When he returned, I was locked and loaded.
“Why do you do that?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Do what?” he said putting his phone face down next to him. What a novice.
“Leave the room every time your baby momma calls?”
We had never swam out this deep before; it was uncharted territory. He wasn’t expecting me to EVER bring up the BABY MOMMA.
Flustered, he searched for an answer. I knew I had caught him hook, line, and sinker.
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” was all he could come up with.
Really buddy, that’s the best you could do?
“Why would that make me uncomfortable? I know that’s your child’s mother and you have to have some type of communication to raise your daughter.”
It was time to stick it to him.
“It’s not like you’re all buddy buddy on social media or sleeping with each other,” I laughed lightly making sure to watch his face turn gray.
He knew. And he knew that I knew that he knew.
What he didn’t know was that I also knew that him and the woman he swore he wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole was also his semi-sorta permanent roommate (“for the children’s benefit I’m sure!”).
There was nothing that Greg could say. And while he may have been a pig, he was a gentle pig and did as a gentleman would do when a man’s been trumped – bow out gracefully.
No words were ever spoken about Greg and Baby Momma Gate. He never acknowledged that I was ever his side chick. Weeks went by and I reopened Greg’s case for a closing investigation: BM and Greg continued to live together (“for the children, I’m sure”). On social media, they posted the same family pictures with the same backgrounds and one time, there was an identical Body Butter cream on a nightstand. And the his and her mugs Greg said were from back in their “dating days.” Call me crazy, but I actually started to feel sorry for the woman. She had no idea what Greg was doing behind her back.
So I contacted BM. I opened my Direct Messenger and typed a lengthy message, detailing just how dirty our Don Juan had been the last few months. Letting her know I was indeed his side chick. It was time to hit send and pull the rug under Greg’s Jordans. And then, just as I was ready to hit send…
…well, that’s a story for another day and another time.