It is time.
Time for Smoove to get back in the game. But he is not here to play. No, Smoove has spent many of his nights looking out his penthouse window, his palms pressed together with his index fingers gently touching his lips, while contemplating the future.
These are the actions of a serious man.
The near life-changing hip injury he suffered during his apartment remodel forced Smoove to slow down and think. Sadly, these thoughts often turned to his one true girl.
These thoughts caused Smoove great pain. Even more pain than Smoove sustained to his pelvis during said remodel. But for this pain, there is no medication to take twice daily as per Smoove’s orthopedist’s instructions.
It is true my body, face, and clothing remain exquisite, but there is a scar on my soul. This wound is a result of the cold actions of my one true girl. Years ago, while the wound was fresh, the only way to relieve the pain was to cry out “Why?!” while falling to my knees during a downpour. Now the pain is a dull ache that causes Smoove to shake his head slowly while watching couples in love walking hand-in-hand on the beach, knowing that he had a love that was on another level and lost it forever.
Smoove realized the only way to soothe the ache was to immerse himself, body and soul, in Ikebana, the Japanese art of flower arranging. I had already mastered the art of American flower arranging to the point where a perfectly chosen and arranged selection of flowers could make a woman forget I had impregnated her sister on the hood of her own car. But Ikebana called to Smoove, for Smoove is always looking for a new arrow to add to his love quiver.
It was after a month of studying Ikebana that something happened. Something that baffled and confused Smoove. He could not master Ikebana.
This failure caused Smoove great misery. He had mastered the art of dressing fine, giving seductive looks, opening car doors in a suave fashion, pleasing that booty, drawing cleansing and flirtatious baths, composing light erotic verse, leaving the most seductive of voicemail messages, and making sensual dinners and comforting but light breakfasts. He had mastered all these things but could not master Ikebana.
Smoove tried so hard he nearly broke a sweat.
It was Smoove’s main man Darnell who freed him from his Ikebana prison. After telling him about my frustrations he looked at me, as only two master players can, and said, “Smoove, you acting crazy.”
Darnell’s wise words washed over me much like beads of purifying water from my imported massaging showerhead. I realized I needed to let go of Ikebana. Not only that, I knew I had to let go of my other major life failure: my relationship with my one true girl.
It took many long nights away from the city’s finest clubs to clear my mind, but I believe I have done just that. I have moved on. I am now ready for a new love.
However, I would like to take this time to say to my one true girl that, even though I am now over you, if you would change your mind about us, no force in the world would stop me from winning you back. I would crawl through the deepest jungles just to see your smile. No river, ravine, or pool of quicksand would slow me down. Even wild animals would stay away, saying things like, “Damn, he is one determined love man” and “This man is a wild animal, like us, but only while getting his freak on.”
The wild animals would say this because game recognizes game.
But now I must move on. I must find the woman I will pick up from work in the whitest limo available in the city. I must find the woman I will hand-feed succulent berries. I must find the woman who will eat side dishes of corn with me, every single night for the rest of our lives. The woman I will seduce each night. The woman I will bathe every morning and sometimes in the evenings. This woman will be my soulmate. The light of my life. My everything.
I will hit this woman doggy style all night long.
My path is now clear: I must find another one true girl.