My friend calls me today to tell me that a guy we know has asked his wife for a divorce. She remembered that a few months ago he hit on me and wondered if maybe I should go speak with his wife and tell her about it now.
Her: "She has no idea why he's leaving her. Do you think if you told her about your experience with him, she'd understand a little better?"
Me: "Ummm...yeah...not gonna do it."
Here's the thing with women. Out loud we say to our friends, to our co-workers and to our men that we would want someone to tell us if our husbands/boyfriends were behaving badly. However, the truth is we do not want to know because if we did want to know, we'd know without having to be told.
On some level, I believe we women understand that despite thousands of years of evolution, men barely have their knuckles off the ground. Their hearts want to be faithful to one woman, but their inner caveman tells them a hungry dinosaur is always right around the corner waiting to devour their family. Their tom catting around is nothing personal...just a little natural survival of the fittest to ensure a male has a gaggle of children to keep the old bloodline going and to help him swat the occasional Pterodactyl when he's in the mood for fried poultry.
That's why they can utter that old standard, "She didn't mean a thing to me," and mean it. Isn't biology interesting?
Having said that, whenever a "friend" tells another "friend" that her man has been giving into his biological need to spread his seed all over the jungle, the very first thing she does is to confront said man about the accusation.
Her: "Sally says you hit on her last week. You'd better tell me the truth, you scum-sucking sperm machine!!!"
Him: "Baby, I swear it wasn't me. NO way would I ever do anything to hurt you. I love you so much. You're beautiful and smart and besides that, Sally is fat and ugly. I wouldn't want her if she was the last set of ovaries on earth." And then he finishes if off with one last and highly emphatic, "I swear".
Her: Crying and blowing snot bubbles, "Ok, Honey. If you really swear you didn't do it, then I believe you. I'll be back in a minute. I'm going over to Sally's to leave a flaming bag of poop on her front porch."
And that's the name of that tune. Although the 6'3" evil doer in question did in fact very specifically ask me to run away with him and join his circus, I won't be visiting his soon to be ex-wife to share that information with her. All it would take is one, "I swear" and I'd have a smelly fire at my door and nobody wants that. Eventually she'll figure this all out. We all figure it out eventually... when we're ready to know, that is.
I do feel badly for her because I know that pain and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. She can do better than him though and my guess is that like all of us who have had our hearts smeared all over the pavement, she will realize that at some point. She'll go from crying to swearing to "how is it possible I never noticed his nose was so crooked?". That's the circle of getting over a man.
Somebody cue the theme from Lion King.
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