Being a serial dater was fun at times. I said, “at times.” Meaning, there were times I wanted to drop the entire lineup and venture on by myself.

Even so, I remember conversations with my roommate about starting lineups. For example, visualize an NBA starting 5. I had a point guard, shooting guard and small forward. Additionally, I had a power forward and a center. My roommate and I would enjoy countless evenings laughing and talking about who would be our #1 draft pick around campus and which young lady would be in our draft lottery.

All in all, this was but a sample of the confab that young men had in their college dormitories.

Twin Goes In

Needless to say, Danielle (from parts I-IV) was still around and pregnant. However, prior to all of this, Danielle was my starting point guard. Twin was my starting shooting guard. They were the 1st and 2nd pick in my draft respectively and I had dated them both at the same time.

That being said, Twin was not meek and mild. She was not modest or passive and did not care about me being a serial dater. Nonetheless, She did not care for the #1 pick. Danielle was (in her words)

An obsolete model that had an accident.

The accident was getting pregnant. As a result, Twin swooped in like an NBA reserve waiting on the starter (Danielle) ahead of her to get injured. She went hard after me like she wanted the scoring title. Although this may be true, I had never experienced anything like this in Twin. She was always so cool about everything. Nevertheless, that day on the stoop, Twin showed Danielle and me exactly how she felt.

Stale Serial

Have you ever had some stale ass cereal? Someone left the box open and when you wake up wanting some Lucky Charms, Honey Nut Cheerios, or Cap’n Crunch, you take one bite and realize it’s stale. Can you say pet peeve? That was how I felt when Danielle walked up and Twin was standing right there. Like a stale ass box of Cheerios hoping no one noticed I was expired and already over it.

With this in mind, Twin snapped.

This pregnant b_tch here…

(insert facepalm emoji)

The “oh s__t face could not be disguised. It was apparent I was not only shocked, but I was also appalled by her demeanor.

Furthermore, there was dissension on my team and I didn’t know how to calm otherwise calm waters. Twin was being an ass (on purpose).

Twin: How this cow gonna walk up like sh_t is sweet? Her spot has been taken. She has been traded for me. Should’ve kept it tight.

Me: Hold up! What’s this talk about a trade?

Danielle: Who you callin’ a b_tch, b_tch?

Me: Yo you are buggin! Fallback Twin! Danielle, please give me a moment.

Twin: What we need a moment for? Do you want this lactating cow? I mean cause if you want her, if you want a pregnant cow, ain’t no reason for us to coexist.

Me: What the hell is this? Where is it coming from?

Oh yeah… it is important to realize, Danielle is now standing right behind me.

Serial Dater Overload

What must be remembered, is that Danielle is pregnant. Or, perhaps Twin reminded you of that bovine little detail.

With that in mind, Twin was verbally abusive, and Danielle wasn’t having it. Here I am standing in the middle trying to figure out how I arrived at this destination and how to get the hell on. I felt like I was caught in an event horizon — trapped with no way out.

All things considered, and with all the things that were said (over all the yelling) — Twin uttered something to Danielle that caused me to pause.

I love him

And then Danielle replied…

but I love him too

My face exactly…

(insert facepalm emoji) and then somebody please kill me now! Or, at the very least I wish The Nothing would come and sweep me away.

How in the world did these two end up “loving” me? My first thought was, they are trying to spite each other. However, Danielle, I could almost believe while she stood there in her contour glow. She and I had a very unique relationship (and I had unwillingly fallen for her). Regardless, she had always known about the others. Similarly, Twin did as well. Yet, Twin said it first which made her statement that much more precarious.

My conclusion?

Both of ya’ll lyin’. I’m ghost.

I just got set up! Or, or least that’s how I felt. Completely vexed — I feverishly walked a mile across cracked concrete and seared asphalt on a sweltering summer day to my off-campus apartment. There I came to grips with the fact that maybe they weren’t lying and perhaps I just wanted them to be (insert facepalm).