Eliot Spitzer's wife

So the comedy gold story of the moment is now-former New York governor Eliot Spitzer, previously famous for his crusade against prostitution, has been caught literally with his pants down, boinking a prostitute. ('Boinking' is a technical term.) Every joke that can possibly be made about this deeply ironic situation has already been claimed by someone far wittier than I, so instead, I'll take another, more serious angle on the subject.

If you had a look at the article linked above, you'll see a little thumbnail picture of Spitzer and his wife, which seems to be the shot that everyone is using in their articles about this scandal. What struck me about the picture is how utterly devastated his wife looks. She's got deep circles under her eyes, the kind of circles that you get from crying rather than lack of sleep, and she looks like she's barely holding back tears while she watches her husband speak. This experience has obviously broken her utterly.

But even so, after her asshole of a husband betrayed her trust, broke his marriage vows, and utterly humiliated her on the national stage, she's standing by his side. I don't get that.

I know that being the wife of a political figure is a completely different culture and mindset. It requires an unshakable loyalty to live with every aspect of your life under constant scrutiny, to endure long periods alone while your husband campaigns, to cultivate a media image of your own and meet with endless girl scouts (or do whatever else it is that you want to do), to look, on the outside, as though you are Perfect. I have heard that among the circles of women who are married to public figures, it's even a mark of prestige to endure the unendurable with a convincing smile.

But no matter how loyal and devoted "no matter what" I was, no matter how committed I was to the ideal of giving all, if my husband, for whom I had sacrificed so much, betrayed me like he betrayed her – with a fucking prostitute, over the course of a decade, so it wasn't like he met someone, sparks flew, and he had a moment of indiscretion – the loyalty would be gone. That man went out over and over again with the cold blooded intention to pay some woman an inordinate amount of money for sex. The only question that would remain for me would be whether I was going to take the high road by refusing to stand by his side while he delivered his fake apology and cried his crocodile tears, or whether I was going to get my revenge by standing by his side and, at the last moment, grabbing the microphone and yelling 'My husband is a cheating asshole!', then slapping him in the face and storming off the stage.

That's all I've got to say, really: Eliot Spitzer is an asshole, and I'm baffled as to why his wife isn't throwing his cheating ass to the media dogs.