Dear Tiger, you are an idiot. Signed, Colleen

I was reading one of my favorite blogs, Memories on Clover Lane, written by someone named Sarah, who lives somewhere – I’d imagine on a street named Clover Lane, but I could be wrong. She’s a great writer and tells the funniest stories, peppered with tales that make you think and question. For me, that’s a perfect mix.

I just read her post Letter to Mr. Woods. Shall we now call him Cheetah? This whole fiasco annoys me. Let’s look at the facts. He is a GOLFER. He got caught cheating on his wife, a BUNCH. As a nation, we have spent oodles and oodles of money covering this story. WTF? Can you imagine how much has been spent on the reporters, the camera crews, news editors… to cover this story? Ugh, it makes me sick. People are starving and loosing their homes and living with undetected illnesses because of crappy or non-existent health care, and we are looking at pictures of his whores. (Wow. That was a bit strong. Sorry about that… a little. I figure I wrote it, I felt it, I should leave it in, so I am.)
Anyway, why do people care?

Ouch. I just had to stop and ask myself, “Do I care?” I just realized that if I am that mad, I must care on some level. Damn it. Here’s the deal, and Sarah says is much better than I can, I think Tiger is an idiot. His choice shows his weakness. He is mean. He must truly not care about the thought of hurting or loosing his wife or child. I’m sure that romping with sexy, young, hot women is tempting, but he had lengthy relationships with these women… did ya’ hear that? It wasn’t just one woman or one time! One is bad enough. Real bad.

I can see why, if you are terribly unhappy, that the “new person” smiling at you, and making you feel all warm and wonderful and important, could tempt you. I know that sometimes, people are weak. I know that some people prey on the weak. I suppose that some people can stray away and then find their way back; that things can be better because they learn to appreciate what and who they have. I don’t know, and don’t care to know.
My husband said something profound the other day, which I will rephrase for fear of having the Internet police come track me down for using horrible words. “For every hot girl there’s someone who’s tired of her crap.” Not even beauty is enough to keep some people faithful. Like women these days don’t have enough insecurity? Now we see, very clearly, that even HOTNESS isn’t enough! URGH! It just makes me mad! What does it take to just do the right thing? Is it that hard? Really? REALLY? REALLY?!?!??!?!

I’ve always been very clear with my limits regarding relationships. I can forgive just about anything. I will not forgive a cheater.  I’ve been told by very reliable sources that, “You never know what you can or will do unless you are faced with it yourself.” And that holds some truth, I’m sure. Maybe I can bear more than I think. But there’s just something about making a conscious decision to dispose of the ones you care for- their feelings, dreams, security– for sex or excitement. If you want to roam that badly, at least have the hoo-haas to pack a bag and leave a note. Or if you REALLY love someone, have the courage to say, “We’re in trouble. I am feeling tempted. What can we do?”
Maybe I’m not so MAD, but more hurt. You may or may not know that my practice husband, Michael, left me one day while I was at work. I came home from the office and just about everything we owned was gone. I called 911. “Um, I’ve been robbed. Everything is gone. Furniture. Lamps. Can openers. Dishes. Hangers… Uh, wait. I’ll call you back.” It was crippling. It wasn’t so much the fact that he bailed; he did what his parents taught him to do. It was more hurtful that he couldn’t even be a good enough friend to tell me he was leaving. We were in trouble then, and we both knew it. I was seeing a therapist and trying to figure out what I was doing that was so wrong and uncover why I wasn’t happy.

“Don’t blame others. Take responsibility.”

I look at my group of friends, and we take on everything. We take on too much. We alone are to blame. I hate that. So, right now, I blame YOU, Tiger Woods, you stupid, weak, unconscionable, mean, selfish asshole. I’d swing a golf club at you, too. And as for your wrecked car? Tough cookies.

Whew! Where’d all THAT come from?

Man, writing is cathartic! Relax, relate, release.