The Consistent Sex

Not so much the Oprah Winfrey woman, as Miss Lucas points out:

I recently stood by as a clothing designer, a mother in her 40s, announced to a group of women that she was divorcing her husband. The women’s faces flickered with curiosity, support, recognition, and — could it be? — yearning. Not a one of us suggested that she try harder to make it work. No voice murmured, “What a shame.”

Because it isn’t a shame…

Needless to say, if that same mother in her 40s announced that her husband had left her due to a new hobby that involved having regular sex with a twenty-something aerobics instructor harboring a passionate interest in ancient Indian literature, they would have all been speechless with rage and immediately launched into a Two-Minute Hate that would last decades.

If this women thinks men are all moderately bad, that’s only because she’s never seen the sort who put any effort into it, although she does strike one as having it within her to inspire her husband to aspire to proverbial badness of the stacked-skull, Genghis Khan variety. Rachel’s commenter JT cogently sums it all up:

“I’d be willing to bet real money that if that moron trips over her husband’s shoes, breaks her neck and dies, he won’t be walking home from the morgue grief-stricken. He’ll be dancing and singing “Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead.”