I was found guilty of adultery.
Oh, relax. I didn’t commit adultery. I was accused and found guilty, but I never did it.
Well, okay, there was that one steamy dream about David Hasselhoff while I was on bed-rest during my first pregnancy and the remote control stopped working with the TV stuck on a Baywatch marathon. I blame that and the pregnancy hormones that were destroying my brain at the time, not any real desire for the Hoff. To this day, I feel a bit guilty and somewhat nauseous at the slightest mention of his name.
I think most women suffer from some degree of Hasselhoff-induced nausea that has nothing to do with an erotic dream, however.
As far as the real thing, actually cheating on my husband? Of course not.
Call me naïve or prudish or whatever, but I have never been able to understand people who cheat in a relationship. I don’t get it. Seriously, what is so hard to understand about staying faithful to a person that you claim to love? If you love them, how can you even contemplate causing them that kind of pain?
And if you don’t love them enough to stay faithful, then why are you in a relationship with them?
I realize I am over-simplifying things. Maybe it would be different if I had ever been attracted to someone outside of my marriage. You know, like one of the men I was accused of cheating with.
The first was an older man, a neighbor of my Aunts. He was very handsome and dignified in a Cary Grant sort of way. He was also my boss at the Outplacement office I worked at before going to Cosmetology school, and I had a well-established working relationship with him.
He was also gay. Very gay. As in, In-A-Committed-Relationship-For-Twenty-Years gay. He was so obviously gay that he was practically a prototype for gay men everywhere.
I was also accused of having a fling with an old friend from high school. I’ll admit that he has cute little dimples and some seriously sparkly blue eyes, but let’s face it: I’ve known him for over thirty years, and I could have screwed him long ago if I had ever felt the slightest hint of physical attraction toward him. I’ve had opportunities over the years, but he’s about as sexually appealing to me as a pair of nicely folded trouser socks. I’ve felt more intense passion toward a Toblerone.
Most recently, I was convicted of having a fling with my child’s coach. Now, I have to tread carefully here; I live in a very small town, and several of my friends and neighbors are followers of my blog. It won’t take much detective work for most of them to figure out who I am talking about.
I respect the man. He does a great job of working with the little guys who don’t really understand how their sport works. He deals with all of us parents, who can be pushy and irritating at times. He has been a source of inspiration for me in recent years because he has recovered from injuries similar to mine, and that gives me hope that I will someday regain full mobility just like he has.
Aside from the fact that he was married to a friend of mine until recently, aside from the rumors I have heard about his temper, aside from the fact that this is a very small town and I have no desire to damage his or my reputation by having a casual fling with him . . . aside from all of that, there are three big reasons why I would never become involved with this particular man.
- He never asked.
- I don’t find him in any way appealing. That’s not to say that he is an unattractive man; he’s just not attractive to me.
- I am married. Duh.
I am in the process of a divorce. Chances are good that I am not ever going to re-marry. Oh, I plan on dating and I may fall in love again, but I just don’t know if I’m up for another round of being hurt in a committed relationship.
People cheat. I’m beginning to think that everyone cheats in a relationship. That I am in the minority because I don’t.
Fidelity means nothing any more. Husbands cheat. Wives cheat. Those of us who don’t are accused of it anyway because cheating has become so prevalent that it is inconceivable to others that anyone would actually stand by their wedding vows.
I can count on one hand the number of people I know who have not cheated on their spouse or been cheated on by their spouse.
I believe in gray areas in life. That not every situation can be easily defined by black or white, good or bad, right or wrong. I believe that we can all learn from every experience, every mistake, every heartache. I even believe in forgiveness and second chances.
But I don’t believe there are gray areas when it comes to infidelity. A cheater is a cheater is a cheater. A cheater loves himself/herself more than the person they are with. A cheater will justify his or her actions by making declarations about destiny and true love and how some things are just meant to be.
And sometimes, a cheater accuses his wife of cheating because he knows that what he is doing is wrong, and because somewhere, deep down inside, he knows that he doesn’t love her enough to stay faithful to her.
And each time he cheats, some tiny piece of his selfish little romantic heart holds out hope that maybe, just maybe, this one, this affair, this new love in his life will be THE ONE that he can finally love enough to stay faithful to.
Yeah, good luck with that.
This has been part of Finish the Sentence Friday, prompted by the sentence starter “I was found guilty . . . “