God Ain't Blind by Mary Monroe Page A

with?”
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    Mary Monroe
    “He must not think that if he told his apprentice he’s seein’ a doctor, but he didn’t tell you. It could be somethin’ a man will discuss only with another man. What’s that new drug they got now for men to use when they need a little help in the bedroom? Viagra, I think they call it, right?”
    “If my husband is seeing a doctor, it’s certainly not for Viagra. I could, and do, parade around in front of him naked. All he does is tell me to put on some clothes before I catch a cold or to move from in front of the TV.”
    Rhoda laughed.
    “You think this is funny?”
    “Hell yeah,” she said and snickered.
    “I’m not laughing, Rhoda.”
    “I’m sorry,” she managed, snickering some more.
    “Pee Wee is not going to a doctor to get Viagra. If he is, he’s wast-ing his money and time, because it’s not working for him. There’s more action going on in a hospital bed than in ours.”
    “Annette, maybe I shouldn’t say this, but . . . maybe it’s not for you,” Rhoda said gently.
    “What do you mean by that? Like I just said, I am his wife!”
    “And this is the real world. His old ass went out and bought a Firebird, and a red one at that. That’s one of the most popular chick magnets in the geriatric community. For males. We women have to use a lot more props to attract attention. But I don’t want to go into that right now.”
    As soon as Rhoda paused, I jumped in. “I don’t want to go into this shit right now, either.”
    “Just let me finish. If Pee Wee’s with some other woman, I can assure you she’s not some douche bag our age that he can satisfy by playin’ with her titties and a few half-ass thrusts—”
    I cut her off in midsentence. “Rhoda, speak for yourself. It takes more than a few thrusts and playing with my titties for a man to satisfy me!”
    “You’re missin’ the point—”
    I cut her off again. “I’m his age. You’re his age. What does that say about us?”
    “Annette, you know as well as I do that men our age rarely cheat GOD AIN’ T BLIND
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    on us with women our age. To them, there’s no more sugar left in a woman’s bowl by the time she reaches middle age.”
    “Louis is only thirty, and I can assure you that he doesn’t think my bowl has run out of sugar.”
    “Now that’s a horse of a different color. Men his age don’t know any better. To them, tail is tail.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean, Dr. Rhoda?”
    “When a man Louis’s age wants a woman your age, it’s for a different reason than a man our age.”
    “I’m not following you at all,” I complained. “And to tell you the truth, we can end this conversation right now, because wherever it’s going, I don’t want to go.”
    “I told you to let me finish. Anyway, men our age eventually stop seeing women our age as sexual options. We’ve become too convenient, too familiar to them. And in some cases, too flabby and worn out. It’s sad but true. But they still like us enough to keep us around.
    Like beer or their favorite tool or somethin’. I bet if somebody offered Pee Wee a brand-new easy chair to lounge around in like a lizard, he’d grab it so fast, it would make your head spin. But, he still wouldn’t dispose of that damn old, faithful La-Z-Boy of his, which annoys you so much.”
    “Then explain to me why Louis finds me so sexy and irresistible?”
    “I just told you, men his age don’t know any better. Maybe his mama weaned him too soon, and now he’s got a mama complex.”
    “Rhoda, if I were you, I’d stop while I was ahead. This conversation is wreaking havoc on my ego. If I keep listening to your theo-ries, you’ll have me convinced that my life is no longer worth living.”
    “I’m only tryin’ to help,” Rhoda said sharply.
    “Well, you’re helping me all right. Helping me lose what little dignity I have left. Because of what you’ve said so far, I’m already tempted to go throw my old, used-up ass off that bridge over