Show 'Em You're a Tiger

I overheard a couple of gals on the C-Train today passionately discussing the whole Tiger Woods fiasco, namely the plight of 'his poor wife!'

(Seriously? Are we still talking about this?)

Alrighty then: I hereby formally climb aboard the Tigergate bandwagon to call bullshit.

Aside from the obvious mitigating factor of a multi-million dollar payout, there's also the fact that most women who suffer the unfortunate circumstance of being linked to some cheating bastard have to do so without the consolation of being fabulously hot. You know what? There are days I might just be willing to trade in DH for a swimsuit model physique and five million bucks. Let's just check my estrogen levels... yep, try me next week. We'll talk.

But the most important thing when considering the case of Mrs. Woods is the revenge factor.

Sure, everyone and their sister knows Tiger was banging... well, everyone and their sister by the sounds of it. Before you feel too sorry for his devoted wife, consider that this woman is living a glorious fantasy that every jilted lover, ever, has only dreamed of: his sponsers are bailing (financial, if not actual, castration); he's the butt of every SNL skit and nasty blog around (public humiliation); and no woman is going to touch him with a ten-foot pole for a verrry long time (involuntary abstinence). And all this slandering and ruin occurred all by itself. She didn't have to lift a finger to make it happen, or tear out a single hair in impotent rage trying to figure out how it could be made to happen without, say, her ending up in jail. No doubt about it, Tiger Woods is getting his dues. And then some. It's like a freaking case study on the cumulative karmic effects of fucking around on your wife. What more could a gal ask for?

Oh, right, of course - but with that many millions you could just buy yourself some chocolate.