My husband cheated on me with some woman, but he won’t tell me who she is. I don’t know anything about her and he wants me to take his word for it that it’s over. It’s eating me up who she is and what she looks like. Maybe I met her and I didn’t know? She must know who I am. I’m sure they shared all sort of details about how I suck or what I do or don’t do in bed.
She’s prettier than me, isn’t she? God… this is killing me.
My Thighs Are Fat
I gotta tell you, this is a no win. If she’s a Victoria Secret underwear model with tits out to there and a stomach you could bounce quarters off of? Yes, you’ll think, crap, I can never compete with that. If she’s a drudge with a hairlip who wears scrunchies, it’s almost worse. You destroyed our marriage to screw THAT? Seriously? I mean, you can wrap your mind around the Victoria Secret underwear model. It’s horrific, but it’s oddly understandable, in a caddish, reptilian part of your brain sort of way. But Ms. Hair Scrunchie? No. You have to be kidding.
But here’s the thing — this isn’t a competition. Anyone who would cheat with a married person is a dog turd. Some dog turds look like dog turds and some dog turds are covered in sugar frosting with rainbow sprinkles. But at the end of the day — they’re still dog turds, with or without frosting. They smell like dog turds. Their essence is that of dog turd.
Same with affair partners. It doesn’t matter what they look like. Affairs are about how that person made the cheater FEEL. It’s about narcissism. If Ms. Hair Scrunchie made your husband feel like a super stud, who was never wrong, and never responsible for any of the shit decisions of his life? Ms. Hair Scrunchie IS the super model. Cheaters just want to see themselves reflected at three times their natural fabulousness. If it weren’t that little piece of narcissistic supply, it would be another. Dog turds are pretty interchangeable.
It’s not you and it’s not your thighs. The problem is your husband has no integrity. He isn’t telling you who she is because he wants to protect himself, her, and the affair. He values his secrecy more than he values your healing. What the other woman looks like is not the issue — your husband’s entitlement is the issue. He’s perpetuating a power dynamic — he keeps all the knowledge (and power), and you stay in the dark (so he can keep eating cake).
Oh, and if you despair of your chubby thighs? (Which puts you in company with 99.9 percent of other women…) Consider that many of us with thighs fatter than yours have relationships with men and women who adore and respect us. It’s not your thighs — he’s a fuckwit. Use those lovely, powerful legs and walk away from him.
This column ran previously. And happy St. Patrick’s Day!
I leave you with my favorite version of “Danny Boy” by Jackie Wilson.