Playing the Baby Mama Card

When I dine alone, the company that is kept around me is sometimes as savory as the food. At the Golden Corral restaurant, I watched a man have dinner with a woman blessed by stunningly exotic South American features. Sitting at the table next to me, they shared a lot of introductory information. My keen eye for matchmaking concluded it was early in their relationship.

The man explained in laborious detail no shortage of past relationships with a curled lip. Thank goodness, he dined at a mega buffet because he had many failed marriages to bemoan. He spoke about children spread across the globe, child support payments and non-payments, prenuptials ending in restraining orders, wives he tried to control and own but ultimately divorced and disowned. He did not seem to realize he was not making a good impression upon this woman who had grown ripe for indigestion. I truly felt sorry for the woman but in between my plates of sirloin steak smothered in fried onions and mushrooms, my ears kept pressed to the gossip grindstone.

The man’s cell phone kept ringing an inordinate amount of time. Finally, he picked up his cell phone, covered the phone with his hand, then informed his date that he was on the pone with baby mama #3. He then told his divorced wife Ginger that he was on a job and traveling on interstate 95 heading to Georgia. Either my eyes deceived me at this point or this South American beauty just turned into the most gorgeous road checkpoint I had ever seen. Never mind telling a boldface lie in front of your date or that seventy-five miles per hour on an interstate never sounds like clanking utensils.

Unable to smooth-talk baby mama #3 on the cell phone in public earshot, he left her alone at the table to reflect on an imploding date. She sat pushing her food from one side of the plate to the other. With no dirt to eavesdrop, I paid a timely visit to the bathroom. Before I unzipped my first article of clothing, I recognize the same man’s voice echoing from a bathroom stall.

He vacillated between sweet, angry and constipated while tethered to the phone. Identifying his caller by the moniker, baby mama number #4 with no shame, I heard him contesting unpaid medical bills. He begged her for a little something something mattress mambo if he wrote her a check for $100.00 the next time he saw her. He showed his unselfishness by letting this baby mama know he was free around midnight this coming Saturday night. Then he unspooled toilet paper on the roll.

Hearing him talk and defecate seemed like a waste of my time. I left the bathroom and returned to my seat. While I chewed the fat on my next course, the man, for lack of a better word, returned to his table. I captured his surprise with satisfaction. The South American beauty was long gone, probably last seen buying a home pregnancy test at the closest drug store.

“That is stone cold.” he said aloud.

I allayed, “You will find another girlfriend.”

“Nah dawg, she stuck me with the bill.”

“Didn’t you pay upfront before your meal?”

“Yeah but dawg, I had my sights on her loaning me $100.00 tonight for another bill.”