'I'm really, really, really, really sorry, Baby. OK?
I am going to step out of my Canadian bailiwick for a moment and share some thoughts on a thing that has been happening on the US side of the border. I happen to think what happens in the US ‘is’ my business, much as it is everybody’s business globally because of the huge impact matters American have on all of us. The thoughts that follow also pertain to certain issues of morality and moral turpitude of the sort that is not unique to any nation, but certainly evidence aspects of how vile human behavior can sometimes be.
“Vengeance is mine,” sayeth the Lord. Or, at least, so sayeth the scriptural scholars who presupposed what the Lord sayeth. The Lord might just as easily have sayeth: “Smite the bastards.” Old Testament God would’ve sayeth that, though wimpy NT God is a little softer
“Judge not lest ye be judged,” the Lord is also purported to have sayeth-ed.
On the other hand, my friend Dave said: “That guy is lower than the belly of a snake that has been run over by a semi.” He was talking about a guy we both know who was remarkably unattractive and uncharming, and who was married to a woman who was lovely, charming, witty and had all those dream girl attributes, and this bozo screwed around on her ‘all’ the time.
Now, Mr. Edwards – eloquent, boyish, bright, etc. – has, as most people this side of the Amazon rainforest know by now, been caught with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar, or in the literal contents of the panties of a woman to whom he was not married.
He’s come clean about it – after months of denial – you know the adage, when in doubt, lie your ass off. And, he’s told the missus, and she’s forgiven him, he says. God, these pathetic political wives – give yourself a bit of a break and claim some honor, dears.
Now, it’s not that it’s unprecedented for some high powered politico to indulge in a little sexual hanky-panky. Indeed, it seems like it’s almost compulsory by now.
“OK, hon’, going out to get laid by a bimbo, now,”
“You go, sweetie. You know I want to see you win that election.”
But, joke as we might, there is one factor that, I would suggest, puts any future ambitions of Mr. Edwards in the political arena in jeopardy:
His Wife Has Terminal Cancer, for Christ’s sake!!
I mean, and I hate to be judgmental, but that is inexcusably low. In that one I will go back to my friend Dave’s ‘snake’ comment.
I’m not tossing brickbats here, and hope like hell I’m not being hypocritical and, well, infidelity happens, and for a number of reasons. And, there was a time, albeit many years ago and in a different relationship, when I wasn’t exactly fastidious about where I hung my hat or doffed my skivvies. But – and there are buts all over the place here – I wasn’t running for political office. I wasn’t asking gullible and decent members of the public to place their trust in me, only to find out that I had the morals of an alleycat.
That was what Edwards was doing. He was boffing the brains out of the remarkably pedestrian looking Rielle Hunter when he was seeking not only public office, but ‘the’ public office.
Like I said, lower’n a snake’s belly.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Edwards, ailing and frail, stood by her sappish and weak man, smiling all the while. They would mount a dais together, hand-in-hand and I can imagine many Americans thought, especially after the Obama romp, that the guy had Veep timbre about him.
Of course, he is now contrite. He is now saying he’s sorry, and that he and the missus will work this out. You know, “our time of trial” bullshit. OK, you’re sorry. You got caught out, thanks to that august journal the National Enquirer. But, if you’re sorry, what are you going to do about it to compensate the people who put trust in you?
Way lower’n a snake’s belly.