Wednesday, February 7, 2007

Unclear on the concept

I've got the reality show "Cheaters" on the hotel TV, and the camera crew is egging on a wounded wife as she bangs on an escort's apartment door. They've already chased the husband out of the parking lot, filming his desperate attempts to change the subject:

(referring to light, two cameramen, boom operator, "detective" host, gaffer and best boy) "Baby, what's all this? What's all this?"

Ummm...this is the people who showed your wife the non-pixellated version of the footage I'm guessing was the escort blowing you on her balcony. This is why smart clients close the drapes.

At the door, the wife pounds and yells.

"Are you coming out here? Are you coming out here?"

Yeah, sure, I'm coming out. You want a cup of sugar, right? Or did you take in a package for me?

The "detective" host (or maybe he's a detective "host") "consoles" the wife:

"We should just end this here. I don't think she's coming out."

We? You got a little white mouse in your pocket?

The wife, still in anger/anguish, says, "she's been seeing him for months!"

"He's been seeing only her, but she's been seeing a lot of different men."

"But she's been seeing him for months!"

At this point, I want to reach through the screen, grab her scrawny insert-hick-state-of-choice (let's make it Arkansas) neck, and shake her until her already exopthalmic eyes drop out and roll around, still searching for answers in the asphalt lot of yet another suburban apartment complex with shiny, scuff-resistant doors.

Lady, he's not "seeing" her. She's not "seeing" him. He's a client. She's an escort. She hugs him goodbye because he pays her. He knows she doesn't really like him. She knows he doesn't really like her. But she's got a vagina and he's got cash, and really, that's all there is to it. You're yelling at the plumber for unstoppering your disposal, when maybe you should just stop throwing not-tonight-I-have-my-period down it.

At the show's conclusion, they flash an ad for an affiliated internet dating service "where you can meet faithful singles!" Equal vocal stress on "faithful" and "singles" - bet that took a few takes.

Hey - new market...


Tom Paine said...

Your stuff is so funny, though the topic is so sad.

My teenage daughter has 1950s moral values about cheating: the woman beats on her man, but kills that fucking whore he's been sleeping with.

And that's the word she uses about the girls who put out: whore.

Yes, I've tried to soften the rigidity of her beliefs, but I'm her asshole father she can't talk to about her friends and don't you ever say anything about them that's why I can't talk to you.

It seems to me even in the case of out-and-out adultery, the "other woman" isn't the one in need of a scolding. But our society has always believed women should be responsable while men are spineless or incapable of resisting Willy's call. Hell, even the president couldn't keep his zipper shut, so maybe they're right?????

Mandy said...

Thanks :) I found the show both funny and sad.

If it's any consolation - I had a terrible relationship with my father in my teens, to the point where I was hospitalized for threatening to kill him - which I don't actually remember doing, but apparently my folks took it seriously. Now he's my closest relative, the only one who really gets me, and I adore him. So it may get better in the long run...doesn't make it suck any less now, though.

I'm always in favor of being upset with the person who broke a promise - the third party didn't make a vow to the spouse. Unless they're the spouse's friend, in which case it's a betrayal of *that* promise. But I don't think anger at the co-respondent, as they used to call them, is really legit - it's just safer than anger at the person you love.

Tom Paine said...

Thanks for the encouragement on my daughter, it's a work-in-progress.

Many poor women can't dump on the man they're dependent on, so they go after the chica. Sadly that sentiment pervades much of our culture now. If you betray me with another man, I'm not going to shoot him. Cue Hendrix or the Byrds with "Hey, Joe."