Are you all Tiger-ed out? Good, me neither! I'm finding the little, oft-overlooked aspects of the story intriguing, rather than the gory sexual details. Things like he frequents Perkins for breakfast and his standard order is an egg white omelet with broccoli. I wonder if his usual breakfast was something more sinful like banana-stuffed french toast with hash browns if he wouldn't feel the need to order a little waitress to go.The person I've found myself most sympathetic for is the soon-to-be-wife of Tiger's accomplice, Bryon Bell. Bryon and his (presumably PISSED OFF) fiancee are getting married next weekend in South Carolina -- with Tiger due to be the best man. Would you want to shoot your intended given he aided Tiger Woods' philandering thus the paparazzi will be staking out the chapel? I hope she's Bridezilla-ing his ass. And firing the best man.
But, always one to learn life lessons from other's misfortunes, I offer you the following wisdom:
- Men who like tasteless, fat-free breakfasts may also like tasteless, fat-free women.
- Perkins / Denny's / iHop / Big Boy waitresses are tempting. Make breakfast at home. If you do brave the shark-invested waters of cheap diner food, make sure your guy orders Moons Over My Hammy or something equally fattening. Seriously, I think there's a correlation.
- Being beautiful doesn't make men be faithful. But later attacking them with a golf club or renegotiating a prenup might. (Also, for maximum effectiveness, the weapon should be directly related to the spouse's occupation. Like if he's a plumber attack with a plunger or a jockey run him over with a horse or a mailman slice him with a letter opener and so forth...)
- Never allow a famous person to be best man at your wedding. Even if this scandal hadn't erupted, the bride was screwed regardless. Like you're going to focus on the bride when Tiger Woods is at the alter? Unless said famous person is paying for your wedding. And honeymoon. And maybe even a house. Then it's okay.
- Golfers just seem more dignified than other athletes because they don't wear shorts or tight pants. They are really all the same. (Except that fat, drunk Hooter-sponsored guy John Daly. He's special.)
.jpg)
Oh dear God. How stupid do you have to be to marry a man who helps his best friend cheat on his wife? I hope she doesn't have a prenup and she deserves whatever she gets. You don't need a crystal ball to see how that one will turn out!
ReplyDeleteI think it's really interesting how he is a total fabrication of marketing. As a former p.r. person, aren't you glad you don't have to crisis manage this? I, for one, am delighted your talents are being used here to draw the connection between a tasteless omelet and a tart.
ReplyDeleteBrilliant Post. I am in Orlando about 15 miles from the chaos and your perspective is the best analysis I've seen so far. I think the Moons over my Hammy is sound advice. I would rather have a chunky hubby than a thin cheater.
ReplyDeleteI love the focus on the poor fiancee. Wow, he would be in for some serious negotiating! And maybe I should be grateful that my husband thinks all restaurant breakfasts are disgusting (personally, I think Moons over My Hammy sounds delicious, but that's why I'll never cheat).
ReplyDeleteHey, come on over. I have tagged you on my blog.
ReplyDeleteMy throat closes at the sight of a broccoli omelet. GAK. And Perkins scrapes runways of airports to lube their grill. I mean, seriously, ew. And those same feelings summarize the Tiger dealio for me. But as the above have said, your post is illuminating in the ways that endless media has not been. thank you.
ReplyDelete