Fear of the Other Woman

By YourTango

Fear of the Other Woman

Bitch.  Skank.  Homewrecker.  Whore.

It’s hard out there for a mistress.

At first, it’s fun to pore over the salacious details of love
triangles, whether in popular culture or our real lives.  Wondering
whether all men stray, contemplating whether a woman should take a
cheater back; all strangely entertaining conversation topics for us
ladies.  Besides, picking apart the “other woman” in order to confirm
the myriad ways the wife is better offers gals both solidarity and a
false sense of security.

Because the truth is, the mistress of Sandra Bullock’s old man,
Michelle “Bombshell” McGee, and her counterparts in the real world
scare the shit out of us.

Knowing there are legions of lusty, busty carnivorous ladies whose
most desired romantic snack is some other woman’s husband or boyfriend
is enough to make even the most poised female shake in her boots.  We
see her coming from a mile away: the gal who gets her kicks from
securing the attention of every male in the room, who relentlessly
pursues attached men like a cat preys on mice, who uses her carefully
constructed feminine wiles to manipulate some poor sap right out of his
pants.  These are women without boundaries or a sense of propriety,
girls who can’t seem to get their self-worth from anything other than
boys.

We know they’re out there and know how hard it must be for a guy to tell them, “no thanks, I’m good.”

My Big Ex was tempted by a Bombshell McGee.  She was a
hair-flipping, mini-skirt-wearing giggle monster who worked at his
company.  Although the gal had a limited range of interests and
considered TV Guide heavy reading, she was the wet dream of
all the men in the office.  But Giggles only had eyes for my guy.  If
he gave in, I knew the fling would mean nothing and he’d regret it.  I
also knew we’d have a giant mess to clean up.  All I could do was stay
out of his way and hope he did the right thing.

Still, it was no fun having Giggles talk over me at parties or
follow my man around the room.  All I wanted was to pull her aside and
ask, “Why are you doing this?  Do you know how bad this’ll feel when it
happens to you?  Because believe me, girlfriend, this will happen to
you.”

Man, I hate the competition between women.  Boy, does it stink.  I
can’t stand walking alone into a dinner party and watching all the
married women put their hands on their husbands’ knees, just as I can’t
stand some chick elbowing me out of the way to talk to the guy I’m with
at a bar.  I was as grossed out by Michelle McGee’s attempt to validate
herself by stealing a seemingly nice person’s husband, as I was
disappointed by her success.

My other woman “a-ha moment” came in college when I interviewed a
local blues musician for a newspaper then got invited to one of his
concerts.  Dancing at the foot of the stage was his girlfriend Nancy, a
fetching groupie with a spectacular body and long, blonde hair she
masterfully whipped around with the same jazzy rhythm with which she
rocked her hips.

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