Free Unfaithful Ties by Nisha Le'Shea

what I’m going to do yet. Knowing me I’m probably going to be working. I have a couple houses that have been on the market for months now that I’m still trying to sell.”
    “Yeah, I forgot about that”
    “Oh shoot, what time is it? Lena asks.
    “It’s a little after six thirty here, so it’s about seven thirty there.”
    “I’ve got to go and pick up Khi and his friends from the bowling alley so I need to get off of this phone because my motherly duties are calling. I hope you decide to come visit soon. I’m going to take you to a couple of clubs and show you how we do it in the A.”
    “Alright chic I’ll talk to you later”
    “Talk to you later Stacy”
    And we hung up.
    ****
    The next day, which is a Saturday I lounge around my condo doing absolutely nothing. I’m bored out of my mind. Most women wish that they could just lie around and be lazy. Me, I’m tired of being able to be lazy whenever I want to. How is that possible? How can a person be tired of being lazy? Maybe I’m just tired of this same old boring routine. I do the same thing day in and day out.
    Uuuuugggghhh !
    God please send me a man
    I decided to get out of the house and pamper myself. I’ve gotten my brows waxed, a manicure and pedicure. I have so much time on my hands that I even get a Brazilian wax. Hell I don’t even know why I wasted my money doing that, it’s not like anyone is going to be visiting my coo-coo anytime soon.  Now, I’m in Alaina’s boutique browsing through designer purses. This does make me feel a little better until a couple walks in the store pushing their twin boys in a stroller. I so want what they have, love, and I think that the woman knows it too. Which is probably the reason why she just gripped his arm tighter. I don’t blame her. If I had a man that looks like Morris Chestnut I’d hold on to him to. That is of course if he has his shit together. When I leave the boutique I head to the mall and every store I visit is filled with happy couples. It’s driving me crazy. What are these women doing that I’m not doing? Lena would probably say that they probably don’t have a book of standards in their heads. And she’s probably right.
    I finally head back home. When I get here I relax in a hot bubble bath. I soak for thirty minutes before I get out. I’m determined to figure out why I’m s exy, successful, and single. So as soon as I throw on my robe I pour a glass of red wine, slouch down on my sofa and continue reading where I left off yesterday. 
    ****
    On Sunday Morning I’m awakened by the chirping of the blue jays, mourning doves, and slandering’s. It’s early; only eight o’clock and I realize that I fell asleep reading last night. The book is smothered in my breast so I set it on the ottoman in front of the dark brown leather sectional I’m lying on. I’ve slept here the entire night, which explains the reason for the uncomfortable crook in my neck. I yawn, stretch, then get up and walk into the kitchen. When I hear the coffee spilling into the mug I gain an immediate urge to release myself so I pace quickly down the hall and head into the guest bathroom. I clean my face, brush my teeth, wrap my hair and tie it down then head back into the kitchen. Steam lingers around the mug as I remove it from the Keurig. The broiling coffee is full to the rim and I realize that I must’ve brewed a ten ounce cup instead of an eight ounce cup which is the reason that I’m spilling drops of coffee all over the hardwood floor. Luckily not one drop of the scorching beverage brazes my feet.
    When I step out onto the terrace of my high-rise condo a crisp breeze floats through the morning air. From where I’m standing, everything looks so tiny. It’s beautiful up here. Right now, I wish I had something to do or at least someone to do but instead of feeling sorry for myself I’ve decided...just this very moment, to make myself useful. So, I walk back into my condo, head straight towards my