You can try to blame it on that nature thing; the whole ‘spread the seed,’ ‘continue the line’ psycho-babble men (much smarter than me) have attributed it to.
Then, of course, there’s that whole ‘alpha male,’ macho-man, ‘go forth and conquer’ mentality that keeps relatively sane men behaving like fifteen year-old boys.
The question, again—
–why men cheat.
The short answer?
Because, largely—and to a man–
we’re fools.
We know we’ve got something good at home; the kind of good that has coffee ready every morning before work, the kind that does the laundry. The kind that –in a way that no other woman since mother should or will or would ever really, really want to—cares about every minute detail of our (probably) mundane, miserable little existences.
Yeah, that kind of good.
See, to them—the good, good girls waiting for us at home—we’re rockstars and teen idols and champions—and they make us feel so damn good about ourselves, that we sneak out on them Saturday nights, maybe because we believe we actually are.
Maybe we believe that we’ll be just as fabulous to the next girl, the one we waste time hitting on in dive bars and restaurants, on Saturday nights better suited for cuddling on couches somewhere safe.
Naturally, the next girl doesn’t care; she might, if we’re ‘lucky’ for a night or a weekend or the amount of time girls-on-the-side spend being girls-on-the-side. Regardless, the memories and good times and trust we tarnish by disrespecting our women (who, more often than not, we leave, selfishly, alone waiting for us) is never, ever worth whatever we gain by cheating.
And yet we do it.
We cheat.
Why?
There’s no magic answer, no universal truth or secret coda I can reveal—no ‘man card’ I’ll lose if I were to give up the magic formula that makes us the idiots we are. All I can offer, as a cheater a time or two (or three) myself, is that we’re selfish, spoiled, delicate little boys, often hoping to give our frail little egos a boost.
Naturally, I’m not speaking on behalf of every man (or even every cheating man) but I can honestly admit that as a reformed-cheat (and yes, we are possible out there in the wild) I’ve matured enough to abhor the concept of betraying any relationship I’ve deemed worthy to devote more than a passing moment to.
So, looking back, what’s my excuse?
Surely, I must have blamed them—the good, good girls waiting for me somewhere other than the wherever-else-I-was when I cheated, right?
Wrong.
Like the act itself, I really had no reason.
I was happy in a relationship.
I was content.
And then this other girl walked by and looked my way…
I don’t want to scare any women out there, but, really, there is no rhyme or reason as to why we do the stupid, selfish things we do. The only thing I can suggest—and this has worked wonders for me—is establishing the importance of honesty early and often in the relationship.
The kind of guy who isn’t afraid—hell, the kind of guy who’s proud—to come home and share every detail of a hard day, or tell stories of events that make him feel ‘weak’ or ‘emotional’ or ‘defeated’ (to a good, good girl who’ll listen) speaks volumes towards maintaining a healthy relationship, one that fulfills all the needs he has or could ever have.
The other kind of guy, the guy with secrets and things he can’t be bothered to say—that kind of guy you don’t want anyway.
