The realisation smashes you like a hammer to the chest. The instant adrenaline surges through your body faster than a junkie getting a fix – the adrenaline takes its toll just like an ingested drug – you shake, your heart pounds resonating on your ear drums, you feel a multitude of emotions – rage, sorrow, despair, all come crashing down around you, all before you’ve even blinked.
That’s right. You’ve been cheated on.
Men cheat, women cheat, the ‘monogamous’ gibbons cheat. While I whole heartedly recognise that there are faithful and adulterous characters in every breed, I can’t help but feel that common knowledge points its pointy finger at men so often being the extramarital deviants. And todays social media melee is but flaming the fires of destruction.
Case study 1: “The best friend”. My absolute chica for life has been single for about seven years now. She’s beautiful, blue eyed, blonde and voluptuous. Sometimes I tell her it’s these attributes that must be the problem, maybe she’s too damn attractive and the men just go gaga for one thing? But erm… since when can someone help being naturally gorgeous? She’s got the looks, great personality, but there just seems to be one recurring problem. Almost every guy that she’s met, at some point along the line, gets outed for already having a girlfriend, sometimes a family. I mean really, what is with that?
Alas, Chica has been the main source of contribution to my recent pondering on why men can’t keep their sausages in their supermarket. Are they stocking some sort of premium brand sausage? Does it have rare, exotic herbs and spices and a low bread content? Maybe the sausage is coming to the end of its shelf life and its little sausage brain is saying, “Please…use me, before I am rendered useless”. There are so many possibilities, but here comes the science bit…
“Men are from Mars, women are from Venus”. I have to admit, I haven’t read the famous book of the same title (that’s on my ‘to do’ list) but the words beautifully sum up the whole conundrum in a short, succinct, scientific sentence. This is what I’ve said to Chica, it’s like the whole DNA make up is different, it’s like men have been encoded to cheat – just like the oh so promiscuous Bonobo ape.
Let’s not forget to add to the equation, not only do many men seem to have their brain surgically attached to their member half the time, they also don’t appear to have that need for sex to be an intimate thing, with an emotional connection, like so many of us women do.
I’m sure even the best of us females have occasionally had the odd, sweet little innocent ‘cheaty’ thought. Okay, I’ll admit it too. In times of extended periods of sexual drought I have been known to turn! I have, at times, transformed from a content, diligent, subservient little housewife (maybe subservient is a bit extreme) into a snappy, eyes bulging, raging nymphomaniac (all in the mind I might add). Thoughts of Channing, Mr Grey, stirrups, gaggy things and pluggy things engulf my usually placid mind.
Are we in agreement? Do we all, as women, have the occasional adulterous thought? Ok so here’s my theory ladies. Now imagine you’re a guy, and times the strength of those thoughts by 1000, multiply by a large dose of emotional detachment. Still able to restrain yourself? Mars – Venus – recipe for disaster!
I’m almost starting to feel sorry for these guys. Just as Chica can’t help the make-up of her DNA, neither can Tom, Dick or Harry help the make-up of theirs!
Case study 2: “Mr Luvva Luvva”. Many moons ago I knew this guy. He had been with his beloved wife for 10 years. During the first 9, he kept the sausage sealed. Then, during the 10th year, his wife’s son, daughter-in-law and grandchild had moved in with them. So adding 3 extra bodies to the household was a recipe for disaster for Mr Luvva Luvva and his happy, once sex-filled relationship. So when the sex reduced, the cheating began. He admitted, quite regretfully, that he had cheated at least 8 times during the year that the extra family had moved in.
So there we have it in simple terms, when the primeval urges were regularly serviced, Mr Luvva Luvva stayed faithful. Obviously, life couldn’t possibly be that simple though, could it? Then why do some people just cheat when there seems to be no reasoning behind it whatsoever?
Let’s cast our minds fondly back to Chica for a moment. In all her tales of woes, willies and new-found wisdom, there’s one theme that keeps reoccurring, and that’s TINDER!! The social media app that allows you select who might tickle your fancy with more ease than finding sweets in a candy shop. The last two dates she went on have resulted in the discovery that these Bonobo’s were swiping left and right, selecting potentials willy-nilly (no pun intended) while Chica visited the restaurant WC. I know, sneaky or what?
Allow me to adjust my plaid flat cap while I say, “In my day, to be able to cheat on someone, you had to actually strike up this thing called a conversation, you had to charm, you had to obtain a telephone number through said charm.” And those were just the first steps of what could potentially be a lengthy process! At least the guys back then actually had to work for the cheat. Now, all that’s required is a little bit of left to right finger movement and weh-hey, they’re on their way to sausage heaven. It’s just. too. easy.
So what are we to do in this new age of click-n-cheat? Never enter into a relationship again? Execute a full background check on each guy you meet to ascertain whether he is a serial polygamist? Try out batting for the same side? Sidle round to the idea of an open relationship?
Whatever we do, whether we choose to concede, or battle the cheating male, I think that we need to accept that for some Bonobo Martians, promiscuity is an integral part of their species design. Call it the ‘procreation flaw’ if you will. But the flaw is real, and it’s not going away any time soon!
“For women the best aphrodisiacs are words. The G-spot is in the ears. He who looks for it below there is wasting his time.” ~Isabel Allende
“Desire is in men a hunger, in women only an appetite.” ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic’s Notebook, 1960