Another Woman vs The Other Woman.

I sat on his couch while putting on my shoes and saw it once again. Small, and yellow just like how I remembered it from the night before. A reminder that I wasn’t the only woman frequenting his place. I could’ve said nothing. I could’ve flipped out. I hesitated, but finally said, “I hope whoever that belongs to doesn’t mind that I spent the night here” all while bracing myself for his response.

“It’s probably Meesh’s or Lilah’s,” he said. “You’re talking about the broken one? Yeah, that’s Meesh’s”.

I knew he would say it belonged to one of his friends girlfriends, and I know this makes me sound naive – but I believed him. I got in the passenger seat of his car and smirked, “Oh, she’ll definitely mind”. “Yeah she would,” he replied. We both laughed about our inside joke, then he drove off.

Now listen. Linda, honey, listen. This isn’t a story about being jealous over another woman being at this man’s house. After all, he wasn’t my man and they could’ve easily been friends.  This is a story about seeing someone who might be someone else’s man.

See, there’s a difference between being just another woman, and being the other woman. – both of which aren’t ideal by the way. Don’t get me wrong, in no way does finding a woman’s hair accessory at a man’s house mean he’s dating/fucking someone else. Matter fact, if we were actually in an exclusive relationship I wouldn’t have blinked twice at it. I know this guy wasn’t my man, I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t someone else’s.

If I can understand that this man likes hanging out with me, but doesn’t want a relationship, then he should be able to understand that I don’t want to be seeing him if another woman has a right to be upset that I am.

 

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