I’m thinking she sounds like she’s on drugs. “Well, don’t tell him,” I say, remembering The God Father of Soul—Ain’t It Funky Now.
“What! I ain’t like you. I’ll tell him what I want. I lovvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv…. lovvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
“You young women need to take a lesson from us older women. We know a little something.”
“You ain’t no expert on men,” she sniffed
“Well James Brown left us some good advice. Ain’t it Funky Now. The lyrics: Never get so confident was nothin’ you want to know….sister, when you loved your man, be careful, I ain’t tellin’ that. He will put you back on the corner, use you like its in the hat.”
“You’re paranoid and he’s dead.” Her cell rings. “Girl, yup. That’s my man. Hold on. Ok here’s his number. You can call him go head.” She hangs up.
My feelings are on my face. I don’t understand these women. My mind is running but I am not trying to have an argument.
“What, What,” the young one says.
“It smells in here. Ain’t it Funky Now. ‘Don’t let nobody take care ‘o your business better than you do. Never get so confident was nothin’ you want to know. You caught up your time. You lose your thing. You think you got to go.’
She lifts her breasts and her dress and says, “If I can’t trust my man, don’t need him. You negative and James Brown is dead.”
“Thank you James.”
“What you thanking him for. He’s dead. Stupid hairdo. Wasn’t he a drunk?”
I’m glad to be a woman. I’m no expert. She’s right about that. I learned from the best–My Spent Emotions. At least she’s young with a long haul in front of her. Poor thing. Poor things.
Vivian Dixon Sober