“People are just like lions,” Aisha complained as she scrapped the licked-clean BBQ chicken bones, popcorn kernels and potato chip crumbs off the plates and into the trash can. “The woman does all the work while the man lies around, licking his ass.”
“What’s Quinton done now?” Taylor’s muffled voice asked.
Aisha pressed the phone onto her ear with her shoulder. “I mean, I cook. I clean. I take care of the kids. I’m cordial with his bitch of a baby mama, and let me tell you, that shit is hard. I suck him off when he’s feeling extra special. And what do I get in return? Empty beer bottles thrown all over my living room floor and a bunch of strange men in my house yelling at the top of their lungs at the TV while Scandal is on!”
“It’s the playoffs, Aisha. You know men don’t think during playoffs. Plus y’alls TV is huge, and the picture is like 3-D without the glasses.”
“It was the season finale!”
“I’m sure you can catch it online tomorrow.”
“Yea, I’ll just spend the whole day wearing ear plugs while everyone and their freaking mama blab about it till they’re senseless!” She slammed the last dish into the soapy water in the sink. “They could’ve at least used the paper plates. What do I even buy them for?”
“Stop being a drama queen. You know you love him.”
“I’d love him more if he’d ever buy me a ring,” she mumbled as she scrubbed each plate with the sponge and held it under the stream of hot water pouring from the faucet. A sudden roar erupted from the men sitting on the couch in the next room, startling Aisha. Her phone slipped off her shoulder, balancing momentarily on the edge of the kitchen counter before falling into the trash can. “Shit!”
“Babe, you gotta come see this,” Quinton said, lingering in the doorway. “Curry just sank this beautiful buzzer beater!”
“That should be a six pointer!” a disembodied voice called from the living room.
“Hell yea!” Quinton said over his shoulder. Then he turned to Aisha. “He shot it from the three-point line on the other side of the court.” He overlapped his arms to demonstrate.
“They ’bout to show the replay!” the voice said again.
“C’mon!” Quinton grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her into the living room.
“But—” she said, looking back at the trash can.
Quinton waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get the dishes later. He stood her behind the couch where five men sat squashed, shoulder to shoulder, lips enclosed around the rims of Corona, enraptured by the movements of Stephen Curry as he tossed the ball from his chest, and it sailed across the court, dropping into the basket and swishing the net.
“Splash!” they all sang in unison, arching their hands in the air as if they had shot the ball themselves.
“Beautiful,” Quinton whispered and kissed the crook of Aisha’s neck.
“Golden State winning it all this year!”
“They gotta get past Harden and James first.”
“Not a problem. Nobody can stop the Splash bros!”
As the men debated the skills of their favorite players, Quinton wrapped his arms around Aisha’s waist, rocking her from side to side and nibbling on her neck. Mmm, she thought, maybe being a lion isn’t so bad after all.
Write or Die Wednesday is a biweekly writing challenge that provides you with a prompt and lets you run with it. This week’s prompt was:
See what other lion writings are lying around, and have a go at it yourself!