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| Photo by PinkMoose. |
I took a time out today for a little "me" time, while my hubby took the kids to an indoor trampoline haven, that apparently smelled strongly of vomit (glad I didn't go). I hopped on my bike and rode down to the local Vietnamese nail salon, intent on getting a "Mani/Pedi". Pedicures are fairly common on my experience list, but I am less familiar with the culture of manicures, having only ever had one or two in my life. My profession (which involves touching people) generally prohibits long finger nails, lest I gouge out eyes or scrap away skin, and so I seldom focus on my nails.
Since I am on vacation, I thought I would splurge, and even try something completely new...a French manicure! After I ordered it up, I had a moment of pause, as I worried that perhaps I had asked for the wrong thing, maybe something that would involve lavish nail extensions with pictures of my kids decoupaged onto them. Fortunately, however, I did order the right style, also referred to as "white tips" by a nail-savvy young customer next to me. This particular style involves hyper-painting the tips of the nails with a white nail polish, disturbingly similar to liquid paper. The nails are then buffed to a high gloss with some form of soupy, clear lacquer. Even now as I type this, the flashing tips of my nails are catching my eyes with their blinding white blur. Something about having your nails done also makes you instinctively begin to hold up your pinkies whenever you touch stuff....thus I am dropping my "a's" pretty frequently as I type.
Typiclly, I keep my nails mostly short with a roundish crescent shape. Whence my very petite (I noted the width of my body was easily twice hers) and heavily accented technician mumbled something which I could not make out, I nodded knowingly (having already asked her four times to repeat herself and insecure that my manicure inexperience would be revealed), thus freeing her to file my nails into blunt rectangles. I guess this is the more fashionable way to do it. I had an urge, when she finished, to dash out and apply for a cashiers' job at Walmart.
I proceeded to the pedicure chair, which conveniently also allowed time for my perky nails to dry. Despite holding my pinkies aloft as I attempted to turn on the built in chair massager, I inadvertently touched one of my newly painted nails up against my pants, denting the just completed paint job. To hide my faux pas, I moved my hand to insure my nail lady couldn't see the damaged thumb, lest she scold me for my clumsiness. (I hate being yelled at in Vietnamese!)
Periodic pedicures are the staple ingredient of my foot maintenance program. I am prone to calluses because of the activities I engage in, and I love when those ladies take the cheese grater to them, paring them down to something resembling femininity. This must be one of the grosser parts of their job. (The quantity of dead skin they removed used to embarrass me, but now I say, F%$^# it, I'm paying her, right?)
"YOU USE STONE IN SHOWER!!", my nail lady yelled at me, her body rocking with vigorous effort, the clumps of gloopy grey skin growing in a pile around her. She seemed so angry that I was worried she would scrape my heels down to bone.
"OKAY!", I shouted back, in a tone mixed with pleading surrender. To my relief, she plunked the tool into the scalding water that swirled at my feet. This signaled the end of her furious assault upon my leathery feet, and I gladly noted there was still some skin remaining. More importantly, it also signaled the start of the massage portion of the service. (My personal favorite!) As she slathered brightly colored, "Birch and Mint" lotion upon my legs and feet, I zoned out, pretending to read the closed captions of the college football game, silently playing on a flat screen mounted high upon the spa wall. (I prefer not to make small talk in these situations, more so because of how difficult it was to understand what she was saying (unless of course she was yelling at me)).
I also enjoy watching what the other ladies in the salon are up to. There were all sorts of manicure techniques being employed, including ruby red nail tips applied on the fingers of one woman. They were being determinedly filed down into the same squared off shape as my nails. Some ladies had their finger tips mysteriously wrapped up in miniature pieces of foil. They were all very intent on the outcome, certain about how their nails should end up looking. I found myself curious about their nail design choices and wondered where they had learned their preferences.
The reception man, also Vietnamese, captured my attention right from the get go. I watched him most of all as I admired his bold clothing choices. He wore a skin tight, netted and layered, sequined shirt, paired with D and G ultra detailed jeans, whose leather trimmed cuffs were up-turned at the ankles. He also sported the longest toed cowboy boots I had ever seen. The toes were so long and lifted up off of the ground, that he was having trouble walking on the tile floor. The boots seemed to slip out from under him with each step he took, very much as if he were walking around on sand. Despite this, he walked around a lot, as he was determined to over decorate every available surface of the salon with super tacky Christmas decor.
"PRETTY COLOR!", my tech balled at me, as she moved me from the pedicure chair towards the drying area. (I am certain that is part of the salon's sales policy, and that in fact, she hates the neon, salmon-pink I have chosen).
"THANK YOU!", I yelled back as I settled into a chair and grabbed the latest People magazine. I astonished myself by how absorbed I became catching up on my celebrity gossip (including the fact that Halle Barry is 46 and still smoking hot!).
My nails were well dry when I left the salon. Relaxed, primped, and certainly polished, I jumped back upon my bike, pinkies held high, and headed for home.
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| Photo by oedipushpinx. |
The topic of fidelity, or more precisely infidelity has been front and center in our collective awareness of late, what with the exploits of once upon a time, acclaimed General Petraeus and a loosely connected group of modestly unattractive, miscreants. (Although to quote a friend, the dramatic application of mascara we are witnessing here, is mesmerizing!) From the indebted socialite, to the fitness-maniac-file-stealing, biographer. From the sending-of-topless-photos-whistle-blowing, FBI guy to the sloppy-seconds-wing-man-other-general who was getting funky with his texts. This sordid affair is like a national viewing of the movie Fatal Attraction, who's message (sans dead bunnies) is simple: "Cheating Ain't Worth It."
The question then, (beyond, if a secret super spy can't keep his affairs a secret and get away with it, then who can?) is why do they keep happening? So publicly, so pathetically, and with women, quite frankly, that make Pat look feminine! Why are we surrounded by greatly accomplished people succumbing to the call of the loins? Time after (Tiger Woods...total skanks, his wife was beautiful!), time (Coby Bryant...that one cost him!), after time (Newt Gingrich (Ugh Callista!!), time (Brad Pitt...poor Jen...), after time (Bill Clinton, a cigar, really?? and would you have honestly saved the dress??), after time (The Terminator, did steroids do any long term penile damage, I admit, I am curious!), after time (old and misshapen US senators aplenty, in Argentina or truck stop bathrooms, you pick). etc. etc. etc.
On some level, we all know that cheating is wrong, right? Right?? (At least that's what our cultural, religious based morality tells us. Deny your human-ness...for it is written!) After all, isn't it just a bunch of hot and crazy sex, with a near stranger, often up against a wall, or in a coat closet, with mostly black clothing, just barely removed, hanging provocatively upon nude, well-muscled, and glistening flesh, an instance where all of your resistance and will have been stripped away with an overpowering passionate urge to unite your hot, excited bodies, pressing, and straining, for more, your lips tearing at each other...all other thoughts vanishing other than a desperate, single minded need, a need that must be and by God, will be fulfilled? (Yawn. Ho Hum. Soooo boring!). (Time out...I just lost my breath!)
Societal rules would have it that Mr. Petraeus, should rather have, lovingly, and I can only imagine, sex-lessly returned to his Mrs. Bush Sr. clone of a wife (I am sure she is a lovely woman...but seriously...makeover?) (update: saw photo of said Mrs. Petraeus from 1974 and she was Meg Ryan cute...women age so poorly...but that is another topic altogether), the one he has been boffing in perpetuity for 87 years. He should have been able to cast aside the sexual diva-ishness of the hard bodied civilian and her wanton, lustful ear-licking! (There are no confirmed reports of ear licking, I just imagine that is what he was into.) We must rise above that trite you say! We are after all domesticated humans, not wild animals!!
But lo, despite our many moral and puritan rules o' monogamy, the startling truth is, that the majority of us, YES, the majority of us are dirty little cheaters! According to the hard-to-imagine-it-exists website, Infidelity Facts.com, a shocking 57% of men report that they have been unfaithful in their relationships. But hold on, sisters, we ain't so virtuous either, claiming hold of a 54% infidelity rate! To further barrage you with statistics, only 31% of marriages survive an affair (the average affair lasting two years), while only one in two marriages ever even has a chance of making it. With daunting stats like these, why bother getting married in the first place? Especially since the natural state of humans is most likely one of polygamy...or multiple partners.
In his article, "Why Some People Resist Relationship Infidelity Better Than Others", Scott Barry Kaufman, Ph. D, shares that those of us with greater cognitive or "executive control" are less likely to cheat. This control requires mental effort to overcome our "default state" which is to "act on impulse". Essentially, we have to think our way out of infidelity. Interestingly, the ability to do this is impaired when we have plentiful, attractive options (the more aggressive the harder it is to resist), when we are overly stressed or mentally taxed (we have less brain power to devote to resisting) and after we consume alcohol (that's a no brainer). High profile individuals, with high stress, busy lives, may therefore be at greater risk because their brain defenses are down further than the average Joe to begin with. Not to mention power lusting women throw themselves at these guys a lot more than they do upon the plumber down the street (except for maybe "Joe The Plumber").
Perhaps our modern day lifestyles are more inherently stressful and busy and our resistance to our natural urges (yes, they are natural...we are attracted to attractive people) is diminishing. Also, a majority of women work outside the home, exposing them to more tempting options. There are lots of relationship issues as well that "drive" people towards affairs, unmet needs, sexual conquest, lack of fellatio/cunning linguistics, etc. etc. Men can argue that they are genetically designed to "spread their seed" with multiple partners. Women on the other hand may be lacking in intimacy (MEN: this is not simply sex: it is cuddling, pillow talk, kissing, caressing and connecting) and seek it elsewhere. Marriage is a breeding ground for staleness both emotionally and sexually...unless of course the garden is well tended.
When someone does cheat, and fails the great cognitive challenge...what are the pros and cons? Well the pros are obvious...crazy sex with some wicked stranger! Maybe you get to do it often, maybe only one time. Perhaps this new conquest will turn into a lasting relationship, but most likely it will not. What it will do however, is at some point, overwhelm your ass with cons, as it did for General Petraeus and his innumerable counterparts. Need I list all of the significant consequences he endured for the satisfaction of his penile ego? He lost his job (a mighty important one at that), his wife is PISSED, he may have been used to gain access to top secret info which is a serious offense, his past reputation is now tainted, his future career prospects are grim (within his chosen field for sure), he is a public joke and a daily, seedy headline, and quite likely he ain't bangin' Broadwell anymore. And he sure as hell ain't banging his wife anymore either!
It doesn't seem worth it, does it? Why couldn't he and all the other cheaters see beyond the orgasmic moment towards the future consequences that their actions were sure to cause? Our cognitive efforts, it appears, can be used in reverse, to justify our actions, and to fool us into thinking we can get away with it, that it doesn't mean anything, that it will only be "just this once". Chances are however, that if you do get away with it, you will be more apt to do it again...why wouldn't you?
Some argue that a more natural married state would be a sexually open one...for both partners. Our morality cries out against this obscene talk...but morality is simply a narrative we have created, originating from this newly evolved part of our brain , responsible for conscious control. A man-made rule intended to control natural human behavior that culturally, we have learned to abhor as something primitive, less than worthy of our evolved human status. Morality has a huge upward battle to fight when it comes to conquering our default, primitive brain programming. Impulse is a low energy, instantaneous process, a part of our hard-wiring, whereas, cognitive control or resistance via conscious consideration takes time and energy. This internal brain-battle is a lot like a financial adviser running around in a casino trying to get all of the people in there to stop gambling. They all know they should stop...they know he is making a good case for stopping...but they can't stop. That's why our society is rife with compulsive behaviors, addiction and obesity. WE ARE WEAK!
Perhaps our expectations of ourselves are too great, our rules unnatural and restrictive? Perhaps our fast paced society is too challenging for the thoughtful parts of our brains to remain within moral control? If we stand back for a moment from our lofty moral pedestals, from our place of judgement over those who have fallen from fidelity, we should ask ourselves if we, in a similar position or circumstance, would have or better yet could have, lived the ideal that we expect them to live by? (I tried to ask my husband what he would do if a super-hot woman started to manhandle him whilst begging him to do her. Did he think he could resist? He glazed over, mumbled something and walked out of the room. I know...and he knows...that it would be nearly IMPOSSIBLE for him to stop it from happening).
Are we asking too much of ours and their human-ness? Should we just get over ourselves and start getting busy? Some of us will and some of us won't, but I am not so sure, next time, I will be as quick to pass judgement.
