A cautionary tale

I heard advertisements yesterday for a news program which was going to air an interview with the second Mrs. Newt Gingrich (as opposed to the current, third Mrs. Newt Gingrich).   I didn't watch it.  It all sounded too familiar.

When I was a kid I took piano lessons from a local lady who also taught a pretty little blond girl named Kathy.  Kathy was enough younger than I that I really didn't know her well, but one of my mom's best friends was a relative of her mother's.  As the years passed, mom heard from her friend about Kathy's life since the friend saw the girl's family often on family and social occasions.  During the 1980's Kathy went to work as the secretary of a well-off man in a nearby town who owned a heavy equipment business.  He wasn't Warren Buffett rich, but quite comfortable.

After a while mom's friend reported that the man had divorced his wife and married Kathy after having an extramarital affair with her.  Kathy was still ensconced in the business office, presumably to keep an eye on her husband.  They had quite a life, even taking the private jet down to the Caribbean to his vacation home.  Mom's friend even went with them once and described the plush accommodations

Later, mom found out that the man had divorced Kathy for another fling he was involved with.  When her friend told us, mom and I just rolled our eyes.  The man had already proved that he wasn't above cheating on his wife when he married Kathy;  she shouldn't have been surprised when the scenario was repeated with her.  What convinced  her that she should expect more faithful treatment from the philanderer we couldn't fathom.

The Super Tuesday Blahs

I try not to blog about divisive issues, but tonight I just can't help it. This day is about over, and thank goodness. From the moment this morning that I voted in our primary - not for the person I wanted to be the party nominee but for the person I least didn't want to be the nominee, it was all downhill. The oval I colored in on that ballot this morning has bugged me all day. It was a non-choice. I detested all the possibilities but felt duty bound to participate in the primary election. So I picked the candidate whose experience, background and platform was the least likely to make my head spin clear around like that girl's in The Exorcist.

Let me make that clear: I wasn't picking this candidate; I was NOT picking the rival candidates. Let's all contemplate that statement for a moment. How depressing can an election get?