Fuckboy Chronicles: The Ego of Men

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“Feelings, so deep in my feelings
No, this ain’t really like me
Can’t control my anxiety….”

*Warning: Spoiler alert*

As I watched this week’s episode of “Power” on Starz, I couldn’t help but be angry. If you watch the show, tonight showed a glimpse of just how fragile the male ego really is. “Ghost” aka James Saint Patrick has cheated incessantly on his wife Tasha. He left her, came back and left again with each new betrayal taking an even harder toll on Tasha. For as much as he talks about putting his family first, his actions state otherwise. Tasha, finally, chose her own happiness with a handsome attorney who was willing to put his career on the line for her. But Ghost couldn’t let that ride. Without giving away the rest of the story, Tasha had a turbulent situation under control. She informed the other two parties involved and it should have been a done deal, right?

But nope. Jamie inserted himself by going to Sparks and telling him what he needed to do while mentioning several times that Tasha was HIS wife. Keep in mind, Sparks had already agreed to have her back. So why did Ghost really show up?

Ghost did what every man who has wronged his wife or significant other has done. He allowed his ego to not hold him accountable for the reason Tasha moved forward in the first place.

Although this is fiction, the story usually goes like this in real life.

My husband, inadvertently, found out via a conversation he heard me having with our daughter. Let me be clear. She asked was he around first because she is protective of me. But I don’t have anything to hide so I told her no and she began to speak freely.

She asked me if I had gone on a date after my husband had his affair with Tuna. I told her the truth. I had. He was fine, successful, and well-dressed but way too much like my husband on the inside. Hell, he was even from Brooklyn. The date was cool. But when he told the server that all he ever ate was chicken, beans and rice; I knew it was not going to go anywhere. We were at a posh seafood restaurant. I ordered for us and he just kept talking about all the things he didn’t eat. Nigga, SHUT UP!

He, literally, sounded like Al just with better taste in clothes. Not even the Ralph Lauren linen outfit, Cazal glasses and Gucci slides could hide his insecurities. His ego was just as fragile as the man with whom I had spent almost 20 years. I’m good.

Needless to say, this new discovery is eating away at my husband’s ego. He may say it’s in jest but he won’t let a call go by without mentioning it. And keep in mind that we aren’t beefing nor is there any animosity between us. But my dude had a whole ass affair with a flea market “beautician” while the sorry ass women in his family laughed at the situation and he is pressing me about a date to get Oysters Rockerfeller?

NIGGA. BYE.

This isn’t a rant necessarily. It’s more of an ongoing observation of how many black men, specifically, expect black women to be gracious and tolerant of their bullshit. It speaks to how we shouldn’t ever choose to put our happiness above their comfortability. We need to dictate our joy not the other way around. We commit to living our best lives in every way except with reference to our relationships with our men. That’s not my portion today, tomorrow or ever.

Originally published at Negra With Tumbao.