(courtesy of Hate The Game)
Unlike the vast majority of my team, from the Lake Squad to the seveneighteen scholars, I am a happily married man. Before I met the woman that I am making my life with, I was in fulfilling and loving relationships. I learned important things from each of the women that I was with (don’t worry, a breakdown for each one is forthcoming, so look out for that) that have allowed me to be the best man that I can be for the woman that I am going to love until the end of my days.
I am reminded of these invaluable lessons each time I hear people talk about their relationship issues. I was having a conversation with a friend today that took me to a very interesting place. It reminded me that I need everyone out there to know something about me. Yes, I have a confession to make. I’ll try to keep it succinct:
Hi, my name is Coach Phil and I am a snitch.
I know all my hood ninjas out there just threw up in their collective mouths, just a little bit, but let me explain… I am a snitch when it comes to the woman I love.
I’ll set the scene up for you.
In undergrad, I was never really too much of a smizzle with mine. I did what I did with the ladies, but I usually kept my goings on close to the vest and out of the guise of the general public. Don’t get me wrong, I did me, but discretion was paramount.
I had a summer fling with a woman that, in hindsight, I completely underestimated. She was quiet and poetic, eclectic, and honestly, a bit weird. Definitely physically attractive too (slim with 36Cs and a modest backside), but if you asked me how we ended up kicking it, I would seldom be able to give you a straight answer. But kick it we did, all summer long.
As expected, when the school year commenced, we started to drift apart. There was the occasional run-in, but nothing nearly on par with our summertime gallivanting. Since I found myself well under the salary cap (read single), I felt comfortable offering 10-day contracts to a couple of interested females. After try-outs concluded, I found myself unexpectedly wifed-up. Did my summertime fling give a fourteenth of a fuck about my change in status?
I get a seemingly innocent call from her one afternoon, requesting my presence at her spot to talk. I consider this request innocuous for 3 reasons:
- Over the course of the summer, we had indeed become friends. Weird as she was, I valued her opinion, and even at the conclusion of our fling, I found her perspective interesting and refreshing. I assumed the feeling was mutual.
- Her roommate, who was ALWAYS in the spot, was one of my newfound wifey’s closest friends. In other words, streets was watching and I would be damn if I got caught up on some stupid ish.
- It really was the middle of the afternoon, no later than like 3:00 PM.
For those reasons, I oblige without a second thought.
I get to her spot.
Knock on the door.
“COME IN!” She exclaims.
I open the door, go inside, and it is dark, with the only light coming from a series of flickering candles. My spider sense is starting to tingle.
She is not in the living room so I call her name. I hear her voice, more softly now, beckoning me to come to her room. My spider sense is throbbing urgently at this point.
On the way to her room I notice that her roommate is nowhere to be found. Spider sense is at Defcon 5.
So I apprehensively head to her room…
To find her…
Wearing nothing but lotion and candlelight.
“I missed you,” she purrs.
Now before I continue, there is something that you should know about me. I have NEVER, EVER, EEEEEEEEEEEEEEVER, put the pussy on a pedestal. I have always subscribed to the Drizzy Drake philosophy, “Pussy is only pussy, and I get it when I need it.” So the normal male reaction (i.e. start thinking with the head between your legs rather than the one on your shoulders) just was not in play.
Did I like what I saw?
You damn right.
Did I let what my eyes were drinking in, and the building excitement of my smaller head rule the day?
I won’t front like I lectured her on compromising my situation or, for that matter, even told her to put her clothes on. I just laughed, said “Wow, you look amazing,” and bounced.
When I got back to the crib, I did 2 things:
- Called one of my boys (the most discrete one) and told him the entire story verbatim.
- Called wifey and got to snitchin!!!!
So what happened?
Wifey listened to the story, secretly started an unrequited blood feud with young fling, and that was the end of it.
All because I was smart enough to snitch.
My reasoning is simple. First, whatever possessed summer fling to come at me like that could easily possess her to make some shit up about how it played out. Second, though I was in the nascent stages of this relationship, I was really feeling wifey, and I wanted to build on a foundation of trust. Third, and probably most importantly, I was acutely aware of my own culpability (fell through the crib of an ex fling dolo, noticed it was dark and candlelit and didn’t bounce immediately), and how my actions could be construed if I failed to get my version out first. Fourth and finally, you NEVER want there to be info out there about you and the opposite sex that your wife did not hear from you first. It’s just bad for business. The truth will set you free…
Do you think I did the right thing? Have you ever felt like snitchin’ was the right path for you? What would you have done in a similar situation? Holla at me peoples…
– Coach Phil