It’s hard not to feel sorry for Eliot Spitzer’s elegant and intelligent wife, Silda Wall, and their three young daughters. (Especially the daughters, who now know more than they should ever have to.) Standing by her husband, looking as emotionally drained as a person can, one can only imagine what she was thinking. Personally, I was thinking that I have seen this scene too many times now.
It is harder still to imagine what he was thinking. When you are so well-known, and the current rules (there is no privacy, and the press isn’t going to keep it private for you) are so well-known, it shouldn’t be so impossible to either be much more discreet — or actually control your sexual impulses. As Tigerhawk just wrote, “Who needs sex that badly anyhow?”