Can’t Say I’m All That Interested In Tiger And His, Uh, Kittens

I have long firmly held the opinion that my level of interest in any given celebrity’s love life is exactly commensurate to theirs in mine. Which, since to the best of my knowledge is zero as none of them know I exist, is in turn none whatsoever. A family members or friend, be they up or down? I’m there to comfort, encourage and rejoice. The latest entry in the pop culture cesspool? You’re on your own. No disrespect to John Donne, but in some things I am an island.

Why should I care who or what someone either presently living in or seeking to turn the clock back to their fifteen minutes sleeps with? How does this impact me or those around me? Granted, by dint of vows taken before God and man I haven’t been available for dating in over two and a half decades. But even if this wasn’t the case, what difference is made by who’s seeking who? None of the parties involved would be calling me up or dropping me a line asking if I was free this weekend. And none of them have ever asked how me and Mrs. Dude are doing. (For the record, fine, thanks.)

Just not with it, I guess.