What Makes Me Laugh

The worst part about Gov. Mark Sanford’s “sparking” affair with an Argentinian woman was not the affair. Oh no. I don’t really care what people do with their pants off. The worst part was reading the love e-mails between the two that the State newspaper published. I cringed in embarrassment at the words, not the deed.

A few excerpts and you’ll see what I mean. From the Governor to “Maria” in Argentina:  

I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificently gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curves of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of night’s light — but hey, that would be going into the sexual details we spoke of at the steakhouse at dinner — and unlike you I would never do that!”

This is way worse than Clinton’s cigar. Way worse. He’s apparently very serious, and all I can think of is, “Is this a joke?” The writing alone disqualifies him from holding office.

Love letters really took a dive with this man. Whatever happened to the lyric prose of Shakespeare’s sonnets, Dante’s poems for Beatrice, Heloise and Abelard’s letters, hell, even Song of Solomon? If it were me, I would have dumped his ass immediately for writing such stupid, sappy blather — and then ending it with “sexual details we spoke of at the steakhouse.” The steakhouse? Honestly, sexual details should not be shared over steak.

Also, what woman wants a man to say that he loves her “tan lines”? Next he’s going to be talking about those cute crow’s feet, or the mole shaped like a heart on her back. Yuck.

Listen, if you’re going to write a love letter do it in longhand, on paper, so that it can be burned later. And don’t sign it. And while you’re at it you might want to cut out magazine letters and paste them onto it and use rubber gloves if you’re the Republican governor of a southern state writing to your mistress.

If you’re not Shakespeare then love letters need to be short and to the point. “I love you. I miss you. You’re beautiful. I had a great time. Wish you were here.” It works, doesn’t it? She knows you care.

Oh, Mark. So many things went wrong in these letters. Let’s get to the Thornbirds part. Again, from Mark to Maria:

“I better stop now least this really sound like the Thornbirds — wherein I was always upset with Richard Chamberlain for not dropping his ambitions and running into Maggie’s arms. The bottom line is two fold, my heart wants me to get on a plane tonight and to be in your loving arms — my head is saying how do we put the Genie back in the bottle because I sure don’t want to be encumbering you, or your options or your life. Put differently, given I love you, I don’t want to be part of the reason you are having less than an ideal week in what sounds like a cool spot.”

First off, I thought Richard Chamberlain’s character in the Thornbirds was not “ambitious” so much as he was a priest. He had taken vows. To God. Just like Mark Sanford had at one time with another woman.

But worst of all is Sanford’s ridiculous inability to never know when to shut up. Stop at “my heart wants to get on a plane tonight and be in your loving arms.” That’s good. That’s really good. So why did he have to go and ruin it by writing, “I don’t want to be part of the reason you are having less than an ideal week in what sounds like a cool spot.”

Less than an ideal week? In a cool spot? The woman is having an affair with a married man who happens to be a conservative politician. Of course she is having less than an ideal week. She knows it’s just a matter of time before she’s dumped.

Let’s move on to next rule of thumb. Don’t talk about heavy equipment in your love letters.

“To me, and I suspect no one else on earth, there is something wonderful about listening to country music playing in the cab, air conditioner running, the hum of a huge diesel engine in the background, the tranquility that comes with being in a virtual wilderness of trees and marsh, the day breaking and vibrant pink coming alive in the morning clouds — and getting to build something with each scoop of dirt… Enough about my love of heavy equipment and woods at sunrise …”

Yes. Let’s get back to you and your tan lines, shall we?

Fortunately, Doug and I have never shared this type of correspondence. We stick to making kissy noises on the phone when we say goodbye from long distances and that’s about as sappy as it gets. But, since this story broke we have agreed that should we ever stretch the bounds of our marriage we will not exchange love letters or e-mails and only need to say, “I’ve hiked the Appalachian Trail. And now I’m back.”

Hiking with Dan (left) in Yellowstone this year

I knew things weren’t going to go well at dinner when Doug mentioned the French Open and Dan said, “I hate the French.” Sigh. Dan is one of our dearest friends, and we have a standing Friday night ritual of dinner and conversation. It’s just that sometimes the conversation goes down the proverbial drain.

Simply put, up until the last presidential election, Dan voted Republican. He voted for George W. Bush twice. So, it’s remarkable that Doug, who is a staunch liberal, and reads the New Yorker magazine for breakfast, has formed such a close bond with Dan.

Usually sports discussions can get us through the awkward political discussions. But I could tell that Dan’s disagreeable stance on the French Open (he asserted that the U.S. Open was much a much harder tournament) and then his challenge to Doug’s statement that tennis athletes and downhill ski racers are some of the best-conditioned athletes in the world, was making Doug bristle a bit. “So you hate the thing I love, huh?” Doug asked.

Thankfully, we were sitting at the bar, so raised voices didn’t bother anyone. Just me, who was sitting in the middle of the verbal volley, and trying to distract the two with banal observations about whatever floated up on the television screen above the bar. “Oh look, hockey!”

Our food arrived, and this lowered the tenor of conversation to statements like, “Wow, that’s a huge steak” and “this wasn’t what I thought it was going to be.” Anyway, I thought we were through the worst of it until Dan brought George W. Bush into the conversation. That’s when Doug really lost it.

First, Dan mentioned Obama’s Middle East speech. Fine, we could agree on that. Then, he said something about how Bush had given an interview recently and he was really happy not to have to deal with the “terror of the world” on a daily basis anymore. 

Oh boy. Now we are dealing with the word “hate” again, only this time from Doug, and then Dan lecturing Doug about how he shouldn’t hate people. I’m telling you, I kind of wanted to slap them both up the side of the head. 

In private, they both complain to me about how the other “talks too much and never listens.” Personally, I think they’re both guilty of that, and deliberate miscommunication, and maybe of having a second alcoholic beverage at dinner and pulling up their Irish (Dan) or Lithuanian (Doug) roots. 

If it was two women, well, just one of these conversations would end the relationship. But the wonder of male relationships (to me) is that they usually end up apologizing and picking up right where they left off. With the French Open.

Courtesy of CongressDaily:

“I feel so close to them, at one point I thought of allowing them to use my car and driver.”

– Former Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle commenting on his friendship with nutrition lobbyist Marshall Matz and his wife. He made his remarks at a Global Child Nutrition Foundation dinner honoring Matz Tuesday.

http://www.nationaljournal.com/congressdaily/fbp_20090305_7743.php