Yeah, I Said It

by Wanda Sykes

  Love doesn’t yell at him for hanging out with the boys all night. Love is just happy he didn’t wreck the car or go home with one of the strippers.

  Love doesn’t want more than he can give you; it doesn’t brag about making more money than him, or dare to think you’re better than him; and if you are, don’t tell him.

  Love doesn’t get pissed because he drank all the juice and left the empty carton in the fridge; it does not remind him about forgetting to pick up more, but praises him even though he’s an inconsiderate jackass.

  Love bears him cheating on you, believes it won’t happen again, hopes he didn’t get her pregnant, then endures his bastard kid.

  And now if you can keep your mouth shut and put up with all his mess, he’ll let you call it love, but it’s really just convenient.

  Now wouldn’t you love to be at a wedding if they read this version?

  Also you know the men who wrote the Bible were straight men, “Man should not sleep with another man.” They didn’t come right out and say women shouldn’t sleep with women. They didn’t want to rule out the whole threesome thing.

  It’s a Business

  I’m happily divorced. I think marriage is an institution for raising children. That’s about it. I don’t see the other perks, myself. Unless you are sickly, then you might want to tie the knot. That’s the only other reason to get married, have somebody take care of your sick ass. You know, somebody to wheel you around and wipe your mouth. But other than that, it’s just for raising kids. This is what I believe. I think when you get married you’re actually going into business together. You’re starting a business, right? In all businesses, you have to have a product. Why are you in business? See, we were married seven years, no kids. So we went out of business. No inventory. Marriage is for raising kids. When you have kids, that’s when you have to stop being selfish. That’s key. It’s no longer about you or me. It’s just about us trying to raise the kids.

  But when you don’t have kids, you’re just two grown people floating around in a house; after a while it’s like, “Damn, you still here? Why don’t you go home?” And plus, that marriage thing, I didn’t get it. It didn’t click with me. I was marriage illiterate. My philosophy was as follows: I was taking care of myself before I met you. You were taking care of yourself before you met me. Let’s just continue down this same path. Let’s be together separately. That was working for me.

  However, he would come home and just say stuff to me that I just didn’t understand. He would walk in the door:

  Him: What’s for dinner?

  Me: What’d you cook?

  He would actually say stuff like that. Sometimes I would say, “I ate already.” As I was putting the scraps in the trash can. “It was pretty good, too.”

  He actually said this one time:

  Him: I’m all out of clean underwear.

  Me: Ooh, you need to wash. I did my laundry yesterday. I got a drawer full of clean panties. Look, you’re welcome to borrow a pair of mine to tide you over if you like.

  I just didn’t get it.

  A Divorce?

  I think my parents are the exception. They’ve been together forever. When I got a divorce, they didn’t want to hear it.

  Mother: What? Oh, you’re gonna get a divorce? It’s just that easy. When things get rough, you just want to throw in the towel just like that? That’s a bunch of bull. What’s the problem?

  Me: All we do is argue.

  Mother: Let me tell you something, your father and I had a shoot-out. You hear me? He took one in the arm. Harry, show her where I shot you.

  My dad pulled up his sleeve.

  Dad: Went right through my bicep.

  Mother: See, that’s love right there. You gotta learn how to work these things out. He was wrong. I shot him. We move on.

  It’s So Hard

  You know what’s harder than being in a relationship? Getting out of one. When Neil Sedaka said “breaking up is hard to do,” he wasn’t lying. I know I won’t get married again because breaking up is the hardest shit to do. It takes years to break up if you want to do it properly. If you want to be able to leave with all of your shit nicely packed in boxes and not thrown all across the front yard, it’s going to take some time.

  After talking with my divorced and single friends, we all have the same story, guys and girls. One day you wake up and look at your mate still sleeping and you think, I’m so fucking bored. I gotta get out of this shit. Your mate wakes up and asks if you’re okay because you’re biting your pillow with tears in your eyes. You just say, “I’m fine. I was watching you sleep.” You know the relationship is over, but you know they don’t know it’s over. So now your dumb chicken-shit ass has to hang around another year or two waiting for them to figure it out and break up with you.

  There is an art to breaking up. We all have that friend who is living day to day, doesn’t have a real address, they just “crash” at a friend’s crib, and are always needing a ride. That friend does not know how to end a relationship. They say all the wrong shit, like, “I can’t help it if I’m the only one who liked themselves before we met.” Talk like that will get your car destroyed and a restraining order filed against you.

  It’s too hard to break up. I don’t envy anyone who’s going through one. It’s like all the talking and the crying is just too much. Then you gotta act like you care as much as the other person does. You know when they’re hurting you gotta act like you’re hurting, too. “I’m gonna miss you.” “Yeah, I’m gonna miss you, too.” Knowing you’re just heading for the door. You got to be careful not to pour the “I’m hurting, too” on too thick. One of my friends did that and his ass ended up in couple’s therapy. Dragged the breakup out for another eight months, and cost him a couple of grand for the therapist. I told him to just pay the therapist to break them up. “This relationship is going nowhere, end it now. You two suck.”

  And then after the crying, there’s that look. That sad, confused look on their face. That “Why? Why?” look. Oh, I can’t take that shit. I can’t take the pain in that look. That look is filled with disappointment and heartbreak and it’s all directed right at you. That look will haunt you in your sleep. You can hear them, “You said you loved me.” Then you start thinking, It would be easier for me to kill you then to have to go through this. It would be easier to shoot you in the head while you are sleeping than to go through this bullshit. At least if I shoot you, I won’t have to look at that face. At least I’d get a different expression. A look of surprise or shock, like, “Hey, what’s up with the gun, baby?” I can sleep at night with that look. I can live with myself with that surprised look as I’m walking out of the door.

  At least if you kill ’em there will be some sympathy. People will comfort you during your time of mourning. That’s better than having to answer a bunch of questions, like, “So, did they catch you cheating? Who’s getting the house?” If you kill ’em, your friends will show up with a Bundt cake and some potato salad. “Sorry for your loss. We’re here for you.” “Thanks. Is that lemon frosting?”

  That’s why whenever there is a murder case, the first person that the police question is the spouse. The cops know who is the most likely person to have committed the crime. And if they find out that you were unhappy or were seeing somebody else on the side, you going straight to jail. They know that you couldn’t break up and you took the easy way out.

  Ask Scott Peterson about how hard it is to get out of a relationship. That’s why he’s on trial right now. I don’t know if he killed his wife, Laci, but he sure looks guilty. He had the girlfriend on the side, talking about his wife knew about it and she was at peace with it. C’mon, man, there ain’t a woman out there who’s going to be “at peace” with her man cheating on her. And while she was pregnant, too! Yeah, she was “at peace,” like the kind of peace they have in the Middle East.

  Scott should have gone old school. Remember back in the day when men would just leave and walk out? They would be reading t
he paper, then just get up, “I’m going to get cigarettes.” And then never come back. I understand that move. I totally get it. It makes sense to me. He was doing her a favor. He couldn’t break up, just couldn’t do it. He thought about it, probably tried to build himself up. “C’mon, man, you can do this. Just look her in the eye and tell her it’s over. Yeah, yeah, I got this. Here goes.” He gets up, looks at her, grabs his coat, “We need bread.”

  It’s the End

  Some of my girlfriends act as though life ends when they don’t have a man. Men don’t act like that. They act as though life begins as soon as the relationship ends. Late at the bar with some friends:

  Her: I wonder what he’s doing right now.

  Him: I wonder who I’m gonna do tonight.

  Her: Nobody in this club even comes close to him.

  Him: Damn, she’s got a nice ass.

  Her: Maybe he called my cell phone.

  Him: How about a lap dance?

  Following a breakup, it’s hard for a woman to move on. The only way she’ll get through it is by spending time concentrating on herself, which is something our society tells women not to do. It’s always, take care of the kids, put food on the table, and open up when I tell you. Men don’t have a problem concentrating on themselves because more than likely they did that throughout the entire relationship. Selfish bastards.

  My Next Damn Book

  I’m going to call it Hey, Just Stop Talking. Shut Up. The entire book will consist of just one chapter, one section, and one page. On that page will be three enumerated items: 1) Shut Up; 2) Please Shut Up; and 3) Okay, I Get It, Now Really, Shut Up. It will be an analysis of relationships.

  The five most feared words in a relationship are “Honey, we need to talk.” Nobody wants to hear that sequence of words. My book will solve all that. It will teach you that if you’re in a relationship and you want to talk, then just start talking. When you’re finished, shut up.

  I can speak from personal experience, as all great writers can. It was once said to me, “Honey, do you think that we could set aside some time next week, maybe Tuesday, to get together, because honey, we need to talk.” Tuesday? But today is Thursday. Now what kind of sadistic evil shit is this? You want me to wait almost a whole week just wondering what the hell you want to talk about? Meanwhile, I’m walking around on eggshells, watching what I say so as not to add more stuff to the stuff you already want to talk about! Grown people are really still children. And we all have vivid, wild, and ruthless imaginations. For most of us “We need to talk” translates into a host of other possible meanings: “Oh no, he’s leaving me,” “He cheated,” “He found out I cheated.” Please, don’t do that to your partner. Don’t make an appointment to talk, just start talking. And remember—when you’re done…? Yep, shut up!

  Part Eight

  They’re Worth It…

  People who have kids are the ones who pressure other people to have them, too. They don’t want to be the only ones who blew it. They want you to share the misery that they are experiencing. Only a few will admit that they can’t wait for the kid to get out of their house. Get married, go off to college, get locked up, they don’t care, just get out.

  The mantra of the majority of my friends who have kids is, “Kids…they are a lot of work, but they are worth it.” However, I’ve noticed that whenever they say this, they never look you in the eye during the “but they are worth it” part. Usually they’re looking down at the ground, past you, or up to the sky to ask God to forgive them for that lie they’re telling. Watch ’em, they never look you in the eye.

  They resent your childless freedom.

  Parent: What’re you doing tonight?

  Me: I’m going out for dinner, then hitting a few bars.

  Parent: Oh, you’re going out? We used to go out…before the kids came. Ya know, you can come over and hang out with us tonight. I made fish sticks. Later on we’ll probably play some Uno. Come on over, girl.

  Don’t invite me over under the pretense of having an adult night just to play with your kids. I don’t want to spend time with your kids. The only reason you want me over is to distract your kids so you can have a moment of peace. While I’m coloring, or trying to show your dumb child how to connect LEGOs, or stopping them from eating Play-Doh, you get to watch a TV program that’s not animated while sipping a glass of wine.

  Why the hell would I want to go over to your house instead of going out? If I had said, “Oh, I’m gonna go dig around in the cans out back of the sushi joint to see what I can find,” then yeah! Your fish sticks sound pretty good. If I had said, “Oh, I’m gonna go find a good Russian roulette game,” then yeah! Uno would be loads of fun. Why would I wanna spend my night playing Uno with you and your kids? Your kid don’t even know his colors. So instead of saying all of this, I just say, “Naw.” Then the usual response: “Yeah, well you have fun. We gonna stay here with the kids. You know, kids…they are a lot of work, but they are worth it.” I can feel them looking away even over the phone.

  You can feel resentment. They hate that you’re out there in the world running free. One friend got pissed that I was going on a little vacation.

  Parent: Where are you going?

  Me: Jamaica.

  Parent: Jamaica. Are you celebrating something?

  Me: Naw, just gotta few days free, so thought I’d get away.

  Parent: Free days! Uh-huh. Ya know, we started to go to Jamaica, but Jimmy needed braces. Jimmy! Come over here, boy, smile and show Ms. Wanda, Jamaica. If you put your ear to his mouth you can hear the ocean. Kids…they are a lot of work (head to the sky, tears rolling down), but they are worth it.

  I have nephews. They love spending time with me because I let them do whatever they want to do. They’re not my kids. I don’t care. Only thing I need to do is keep you alive. That’s it. They come visit me. “Oh, you didn’t want dinner? Okay, ice cream all day, how ’bout that?” I don’t have to do a damn thing. Just scoop it out. “There you go. Eat up.” I don’t care about your diabetes. I don’t care. I remember the first time they stayed with me my sister-in-law called me at midnight. “Did you have a hard time getting the boys to sleep?” I’m like, “Sleep? We sitting up drinking liquor, playing Nintendo.” They’re not my kids.

  Kids

  To me, it’s hard being a kid these days. I wouldn’t want to be a kid now. There’s too much going on in the world today. They have access to too much information. Kids don’t get to be kids. When we were kids, we were dumb. Our parents were dumb, but everybody was happy. I remember riding along in the car with my father as a little girl, looking out the window.

  Me: Hey, Daddy, why is the moon following us?

  Daddy: Oh, the moon usually follows little kids who need an ass-whipping.

  It bugs me when people take their kids to places they have no business going to. The other day I was at a restaurant that had a bar attached to it. I was in the bar having a few drinks and this guy walks over to my section; guess he just had dinner with his kid. For whatever reason they both started heading to the bar. This little boy was running all over the bar, just knocking stuff over, playing in between the seats. It was really getting on my nerves.

  Me: Hey, man, wanna get your little kid outta here?

  Father: He has every right to be here.

  Me: No he doesn’t. This is a bar; we’re all adults. You can’t bring a kid in here. That’s disrespectful. I don’t go to the playground and drink.

  Father: (pause) Good point.

  Me: So take that little bastard outta here.

  I’m not really a Lakers fan, but last season I got hooked up with these Lakers tickets. They were free courtside seats. I’m not gonna turn that down. So I was sitting at the game with one of my friends, just talking normal talk. And you know, every now and then I may curse. Well, as I reached over to receive my third margarita (there’s bar service at courtside), I noticed this guy sitting next to me had a little boy with him. Instantly, I apologized for using my sta
ndard foul language. I felt so bad. I was like:

  Me: Oh shit! My bad. I didn’t see your kid there. I’ll watch my mouth.

  Father: Thank you.

  Then about two minutes later I thought about it.

  Me: Wait a minute. These are twenty-five-hundred-dollar seats. “What the fuck is his little ass doing sitting in a twenty-five-hundred-dollar seat? You better have a job to be sitting in seats like these. And you don’t look like one of the Spy Kids. If you’re gonna act like an adult, you’re gonna hear some adult shit. Have you filed your taxes this year? How’s your prostate?”

  See, it’s not that I don’t like kids. Yeah, I don’t like kids.

  Now I ask myself, for real, am I gonna have kids or not? Nope. Plus, I’ve reached that age where you shouldn’t have kids. You know, once you’ve passed a certain age you’ll have an old-looking baby. You ever have a friend who had a baby too late in life and her baby is one of those old-looking babies? Like the baby may have been recycled. Or maybe that baby has been here before. It’s one of them babies who look like they can drive themselves home from the hospital. You look at the baby and think, Didn’t he march with Dr. King? He looks like Ralph Abernathy.

  I’d have an old baby. That’s what I would name it, too. “The ODB. The Old Dirty Baby.”

  Mommy Dearest

  Ever since biblical times women have had this societal pressure to fulfill their purpose on earth…to procreate. But you’d think by now we would’ve figured out that some women just weren’t made to have kids. Remember that lady in Texas who drowned her kids? It’s too much pressure.