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I find it pretty hard to muster up a lot of outrage about anything that doesn't directly pertain to my life. I'd never be the guy brandishing bedazzled signs about "Adam and Steve" at someone's gay wedding, because if I felt that strongly about it I just wouldn't go, you know?
Same goes for the public lashing Rielle Hunter, the former girlfriend of ex-presidential candidate John Edwards and forever the mother of his child has received as of late.
Like most people with a juicy story to tell (or not), Hunter has a new book out called "What Really Happened," which purports to tell the true tale of her infamous affair with Edwards. And I have to admit I'm sort of fascinated by the whole thing.
Today on "The View," Hunter held her own against the expected onslaught of mistress-shaming being slung at her from all sides. Not that she didn't expect it.
"I'm not a mistress, I'm a mom," she said by way of revving up the ladies' collective engines. Elisabeth Hasselbeck, of course, had to set the record straight. "Truth be told you were a mistress. He was married to Elizabeth Edwards up until her death. They never divorced."
But I get both Hunter and Hasselbeck's points. Sure, semantically speaking the woman was a mistress, but eventually she became something else entirely. And can't mistresses be moms, too?
Instead of being turned off by Hunter's sort of knowier-than-thou aura on "The View," I was intrigued by it, which of course made me feel all dirty and low brow.
Referring to her take on the late Mrs. Elizabeth Edwards, Whoopi Goldberg claimed that in her book, Hunter, effectively "trashes a dead lady," which is sort of a sucky thing to do.
"You can have the truth and know it," explained Whoop, "but to put it out there makes you look bad." Does it? Because when Hunter evenly countered with, "Elizabeth being a saint and John Edwards being a demon and me being a homewrecker; those aren't true personas," I found myself unconsciously nodding my head in agreement.
I've written before that I thought Rielle Hunter was nutty, especially after her very "candid" interview with GQ magazine in 2010. An interview she now admits was horrendous. Back then I thought the idea of "truth telling" when it comes to mistresses was really just a pissing contest between women disguised as a heroic act of pulling back the veil, revealing that the Great Oz is just a lost old man in his jammy jams.
Licking one's wounds and heading home alone with your head down just isn't badass enough for all the would-be super heroines out there. That's why it's easier to just pee on things. Unfortunately, anything that needs to be peed on usually already stinks.
But now I'm not so sure. Maybe reality TV has shored up my tolerance for potentially brain-melting drama. Or maybe piecing together the he said, she said, they said puzzle of the Edwards-Hunter hullabaloo just sounds like fun. Either way I might shell out a few clams to lay claim to the first "celebrity" tell-all in my library.
But it'll be on my iPad, of course. I wouldn't want to upset my hard copies of "The Bluest Eye" and "The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao."