I’m Soooo Sorry

      I’d just like to say I’m sorry.
      So here goes: I’m sorry. I’m sooooo sorry.
     There. Satisfied?
     Why am I apologizing? Because someone needs to set an example.
     I keep telling you that no one says they’re sorry until they’re caught and, sure enough, we’ve now had yet another example – that New York governor who, apparently, spent years patronizing prostitutes and now he’s sorry.
     So sorry, in fact, that he’s announced he’s going to go through a period of “atonement.”
     Yes, Yom Kippur came early this year in the Eliot Spitzer household. I’m thinking maybe more than one day of fasting is called for here.
     Anyhow, I’m taking the initiative to show my moral superiority. I hereby apologize right now for everything I’ve done even though I haven’t been caught.
     What have I done?
     If I haven’t been caught, I’m not telling. Isn’t it enough that I’ve apologized?
     That’s all you need to do to make things right, isn’t it?
     And if I ever do get caught – and I’m not saying there’s anything to catch me at – I’m not apologizing again.
     My public humiliation is over. It’s time for the healing and the atonement to begin.
     Now let’s talk about the wife.
     Much has been made of the appearance of Eliot Spitzer’s wife at the governor’s sorrowful announcements. For some reason, she doesn’t look entirely happy to be there. This has led, as it so often does, to lengthy debate and analysis of what exactly she should be doing and why the heck she should be there at all.
     This debate and analysis, as is customary, is offered by people who know absolutely nothing about the people they’re talking about, have no real clue what’s on their minds, and have no knowledge of what’s going on behind the scenes.
     It’s the sort of commentary we’ve come to expect from our media. We need guidance for our gossip.
     Since I’m part of the media and also have absolutely no knowledge of the Spitzer household, I feel it’s my duty to offer explanations for what’s going on that others inexplicably have missed.
     For example, isn’t it possible that the wife didn’t really mind? Maybe she’s Client #10. Or maybe she liked getting Eliot – the self-described f-ing steamroller – out of the house. How much steamrolling can one woman stand?
     This isn’t a Stepford wife, you know. The woman’s a lawyer. For all we know, she could have masterminded the whole thing – maybe put in a few phone calls after noticing that the checkbooks never seemed to balance.
     Or maybe she wants to run for president. Stranger things have happened.
     I’d now like to offer a suggestion for a change in the law to promote marital bliss: let’s make divorce mandatory.
     Think of it as term limits for matrimony. No one should be allowed to stay married for more than, say, two years at a time. You can get remarried to the same person if you really want to, but only after at least six months of non-marriage.
     It’s good for your health because you can’t let yourself go and there’s no incentive to cheat while you’re married because you won’t be married soon.
     I would now like to apologize for this column and begin my atonement.

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