THE PLANK DECEMBER 9, 2009
Both the NYT and the WaPo today ran the requisite Can You Believe Tiger Was So Dense As To Sext His Side Pieces pieces. With the wired world awash in countless new and improved ways to get caught cheating, the papers marvel (citing the recent texting troubles of slut puppies like Sen. John Ensign and former Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick), why would any sane man even think of leaving an e-trail of his sins?
But isn't the insanity the point? Whether digital or analog, risk has always been central to the fun of cheating. (Not that banging a cocktail waitress with enormous knockers isn't fun in and of itself, but work with me here.)
Guys have all that testosterone slushing through their bodies making them ....what's the clinical term again?...stupid. The transgressiveness of an illicit romp is just too delicious for many of them to resist. And the possibility of getting caught by one's partner only adds to the spice.
Sure, men tend to be sloppier about the details than women, thoughtlessly leaving incriminating receipts or cell phone bills lying around. (I cannot tell you how many times I've found receipts for my "surprise" Christmas or birthday gifts sitting on the kitchen counter.) But to some degree, men just can't help but climb farther and farther out on that limb. I shudder to think of how many naughty boys get their kicks from sexting the Other Woman while seated next to the missus at the dinner table or the kiddies' soccer game. Gross? Childish? Likely to earn them a knife in the crotch if they're ever found out? You betcha. But that's what makes it so hot.
And it's why even otherwise sane guys will keep on sending those naughty emails and voice mails and text messages--no matter how many of their cheating brethren wind up with a golf club through the window of their car.
And with that, and because I'm always looking for an excuse to go "Glee":