I think the whole Anthony Weiner thing is funny. Hell, his name is a synonym for “Penis,” and he’s on the web, sending photos of his Weiner (or wiener) to random women. It’s the stuff tabloids pray for on a daily bases, and the New York Post and Daily News headline writers have had their field days. It’s as close to shooting fish in a bucket as anything I’ve ever seen. Funny, funny, funny, funny …
And yet …
Earlier today the wife wrote a piece for the Wall Street Journal on Weiner’s wife, Huma Abedin, and her decision to stand by her man. Abedin, as Catherine’s piece noted, is being ripped apart and slammed and mocked. Who, after all, would remain loyal to such a creep? Who would be so … stupid?
As Catherine worked on the article, I found my thoughts drifting from happy ridicule to jarring sadness. These are—come day’s end—people. Human beings. Entities. They have issues and problems and flaws. Just as I do. Just as you do. It’s extraordinarily easy for us to point and laugh, because nobody is pointing and laughing at us. If Joe Schmoe goes home tonight and flirts on Facebook with Julie Schmoe, nobody cares. Joe is a dentist. A contractor. He’s anonymous. He can flash his penis to his 23 Twitter followers, and be greeted with a collective yawn.
I don’t know if Weiner’s wife is right to stay. My heart says, “Run! Run far away!” But, truth be told, what do I know? What do we know? Maybe she believes marriage is forever, and to not stick would violate a code. Maybe she absolutely loves the man, and won’t abandon him in trouble. Maybe she sees his need to send sexual selfies not as the work of an asswipe, but of a guy requiring help.
Again, I don’t have the answers.
Neither do you.