I like real woman. I don’t confine my interest to super models, athletes and celebrities. Real women are interesting. I love their attention and ideas...and they ARE nice to look at.
Oh, my little brain works fine, but I’m married, extremely married. Adults know the line between teasing and flirting. Friends know better. Not only do you not cross the line, you don’t even come close to touching it.
Even fantasy women, models and celebrities, can’t come close. I have something at home that they can’t touch. I have dreams come true… touch by touch, night after night, year after year.
Lots of men, married and unmarried alike, are playing the game. Everything, and everyone, is about THEM. The trophy girl friend or wife is about THEM. The marriage, if they bother, is about THEM. They hear the “to have and to hold” part of the vows and ignore the “love and cherish” part. An affair is only another part of their ongoing love affair…with themselves. The affair proves that they are special. It is not about being attractive. It’s not even about surrendering to beauty. It is deeper and sicker than that. The forbidden is favored above the available and the more illicit the affair better. Why? Because the illicit proves that they are above the rules. The coworker, the married friend, the young girl… the young boy.
I WISH it were a problem only of playboys, of boys that did not grow up. It isn’t. There are playgirls too. Both are lost in their fantasy world where they are the featured player. IMHO, they are not special. They are broken.
There are exceptions. Some affairs are an honest spouse’s retreat from a broken mate. Divorce is the more honest response. But the serial cheaters are something else.
You can’t fix the gamblers. The best solution is to get as far away as possible. Leave them in their fantasy world.
Me, I’ll stay in mine. In my world, I have the woman I love and my dreams come true-- day by day and night by night.
Friday, March 14, 2008
A Married Man's Reaction to Elliot Spitzer
A reader sent me this letter, regarding the Elliot Spitzer scandal. The reader calls it "Why They Cheat," and signs himself, "Semper Fi."