I suppose a woman could take some comfort from the predicament of the governor of South Carolina, who vanished last week for a secret tryst in Argentina with his lover.
For once, a married politician's sexual transgression didn't involve hookers, sex tapes, young interns, homosexual confessions or anonymous encounters in bathroom stalls.
Instead, we have Mark Sanford waxing poetic -- often publicly, and at length -- about his paramour's grace and kindness; intelligence and sophistication; warm eyes, gentle kisses and "erotic beauty . . . in the faded glow of night's light."
How sweet to imagine that a hard-charging, tough-talking politician could be so in touch with his romantic side; that a middle-aged man could finally meet the one woman who makes him feel alive.
Except that Sanford's "soul mate" is Maria. Not Jenny -- his wife of 20 years and the mother of his four young sons.
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It's been more intriguing than Jon and Kate, and easier for voyeurs to take sides.
Mark Sanford is a dope, a hypocrite and a blabbermouth who certainly embarrassed his family and probably committed political suicide.
Jenny is every middle-aged wife who put her career on hold for a man: raised the kids, ran the house, organized the birthday parties and sent out the Christmas cards.
Now she has to settle for being known as the "gracious [and] wonderful Christian woman" (her husband's description) who can't hold a candle to his lover, the passionate divorcee, who likes to work out, play tennis and jog.
The affair unfurled like a steamy romance novel, making it perfect water-cooler fodder and raising questions that other politicians' tawdry sexual escapades haven't.
Or as one male colleague asked me when the subject came up: What's worse to a woman, an Eliot Spitzer consorting with prostitutes, or a Sanford, who is over-the-moon about his lover.
Sanford, by a landslide.
When I read the account of his rambling news conference, it was the "S-word" that hit me in the gut. Soul mate, he called her; his once-in-a-lifetime, magical lover.
It takes infidelity to a whole new level. If you're the wife -- but not the soul mate -- why even bother to try to recover?
I remember having a soul mate once. After a while, in the words of my therapist, the neurotransmitters in my brain calmed down and the intoxicating addiction wore off. The love was still there, but the passion was gone.
