Fed Up with the Fanny: A Novel - Softcover

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Franklin White is the author of Fed Up with the Fanny, Cup of Love, Money for Good, Til' Death Do Us Part, Potentially Yours, and First Round Lottery Pick. Franklin is a graduate of Central State University and resides in Atlanta.

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Kahlil Richardson seems to have it all: a stellar career as a rising young advertising executive in his native Detroit, a serious commitment to community activism, a beautiful girlfriend to whom he's just become engaged, a loving family, and a great old house that he's fixing up room by room. Things are about to get very messy, however, as the women in his life make unwise decisions that affect everyone around them.

A captivating tale driven by strong characters who aren't afraid to speak their minds, Fed Up with the Fanny is a novel for every woman who has yearned for men to communicate more and for every man who has felt blamed for the divide between the sexes. We may think the choices we face in life are ours alone to make, but Franklin White shows with compassion how those choices affect not only us but our loved ones as well.

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Chapter 1
Everyday Thang
Even though I still had to finish up my last eight hours for the man I felt good about the beginning of my day. My new Volvo 960 put me in the right frame of mind by passing any and everything on the road as I cruised to work. Through the sunroof I could see the beautiful blue skies that covered the city, but the heat outside was ridiculous. When I planted my feet on the pavement in the parking lot, I felt like dropping straight down to my knees and asking God to take back this wicked, thick, humid air and return the cool breezy air that I love about my hometown of Detroit in early September.
It was so hot out that the coffee vendors weren't parked in their usual spots along the sidewalk for the first time all week. And without the vendors I didn't get to scan for the groups of women who make a habit of gathering around in clusters, drinking their coffee, tea, Slim Fast, and juice, while peepin' the few brothers who have jobs downtown. When these ladies see a brother, they get so excited you would think that Laurence or Wesley had been sighted with signs on their backs saying, TAKE ME, I'M YOURS! I could tell they were really trippin' as they tried their best to position themselves for their morning look over without it being too obvious.
"Hi," one of the ladies said as I approached them with a smile planted on my face. She easily stood out because she was the tallest of them all. I noticed the sister started to drink whatever she had in her cup as she seductively batted her long eyelashes at me, then grinned at her girlfriends waiting for them to tease her about how bad she'd been.
This attention was definitely a first from this group of young women. There are so many cliques on Woodward Avenue that I have memorized each one for acknowledgment's sake. I'd walked past this particular group every day on my way into work, but this was the first time anyone had spoken to me. As I walked directly into the gang, I thought about all the how-to guides in the bookstores that brothers and sisters are writing on how women can lure men. They must be selling big time, and these young ladies must have read every line and talked about it in a literary club because when I slowed down to speak to them, I felt like they were trying out a can't-miss example from the latest book on me. No doubt these sisters were fly, I had to give them that, and I kind of felt sorry for them because of the lack of brothers around to compliment them on their good looks or to do whatever we do to just make them smile. I knew they were up to something, so I just hoped their intentions were good. But I was prepared to encounter any type of game that they were planning to throw my way because in a gang bang you never know the flavor of the day. I had my fingers crossed, hoping one of the sisters hadn't stopped short of reading all of her chapters, because I didn't want to have to take anyone back to school. I have five sisters, and growing up in our house, you said good morning to the attitudes before anyone else in the house. So I was sure that I could handle these sisters if need be. "Good morning, ladies," I responded, making sure I looked at each and every one of them so I wouldn't offend anyone without breaking stride. I could feel their eyes on my backside and, to tell you the truth, I enjoyed the hell out of all the attention.
"Excuse me?" a tender voice sang out.
I stopped and turned around, then looked at the young lady who said hello and smiled.
"Are you a professional basketball player?" she asked.
They all waited intently for an answer. "No, I'm sure not." At six feet five I receive that question a lot. I'd been considered by a couple of NBA teams back when I played basketball at Central State University, and I made it a point to continue to work out over the years and keep my body in shape. At that moment I was glad that I did.
"Then you must be a professional model," a different sister said, as she slowly stirred her drink and looked around at her girlfriends to show them how much spunk she had. Smiling and slightly blushing, I told them, "No, not a model either, just a hardworking ad executive at the Houston Corporation who better get himself to work so that he can prepare for a very busy day. Nice meeting you all."
Waving good-bye to the ladies, I turned around and continued to walk to work. I overheard their comments.
"Hum, an ad executive. Not bad," one of the ladies said.
"Is that what he is?" another blurted out. "All I heard him say, is...he was hard." They burst into laughter.
Still grinning from their comments, I remembered when -- and it was not that long ago -- a brother of my complexion, deep-down chocolate, was not looked upon favorably by the majority of women. It used to be, if you didn't look like anyone in the Debarge family, you most likely had to settle for whatever came your way and hope and pray that she wasn't blacker than you. But the days of being called spook, black knight, tar baby, and crispy critter by your own people are gone. Women nowadays seem to want nothing but a chocolate mocha, radial-tire color black man.
While riding on the elevator to my office, I thought about what my father had told me about the corporate world and all the foolishness I would encounter in the workplace. So much of what he said has occurred like Scripture, and I am just thankful that God gave him to me as long as he did. Before my pops passed away he was always there for me, and one thing is for sure, working as the head of plant maintenance in the automobile industry for thirty-five years taught him a lot about people and what they will or will not do. When he died it hurt me so bad because he was so brokenhearted. Love and respect were always in abundance in the Richardson household, and with six kids to raise there was never a dull moment. My parents went the extra mile for all of us until the day Pops was rolled down the church aisle in his casket. His dream of raising six strong, independent children had evaded him, and he died worrying about my sister Leandra.
My sister Leandra, the eldest of five girls and myself, is the most irresponsible person I have ever known. And the most irritating thing about that is that she happens to be in my family. Everyone seems to have a problem with her and her know-it-all attitude, which has really turned my close family into a thing of the past. Since my father died, four of my five sisters have moved back in with my mother, to the house that he built for their retirement. He always joked that they were going to move out of the ghetto where the drugs and guns were sold to the place where everything is manufactured -- the suburbs -- and that's exactly what he did. After he passed, Toni, Kim, and Pam slowly moved back in with Mom. Michelle is the only one who doesn't live with my mother but still, she's always there.
In the beginning it really didn't bother my mother that she had a houseful again, but I can see that it's taking its toll on her. I'm sure she's grateful that she isn't there with Leandra by herself, and everyone works to keep her mind at ease as she misses my father dearly.
As usual I was the first one in the office and to my surprise the very important contract revision for the sneaker ad had not been done. It was still sitting on my desk. I wish my boss, Mr. Gales, would ensure that the office secretary, Danielle, would do my work as quickly as she takes off her panties for him after everyone has left for the day. When I first heard that she and Gales were fooling around I really couldn't believe it. I mean this girl looks like she could have her face plastered on all the white magazines if she wanted to -- Mademoiselle, Vogue, or some shit. What could she see in Gales? But one evening I returned to the office to get my keys that I had left in my desk drawer, and after hearing for myself the two lovebirds...