Loser's Guide to Life
It's odd how many novels are about adultery. Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina, everything by John Updike, etc. Even novels that aren't about adultery often include some adultery as a device. But I don't think I know any adulterers. People get divorced or break up so easily now.
—What time it it?
—Uh, I'm just gonna get a coffee first.
—Okay, eleven-thirty, then. Please leave your key at the desk.
It's also odd that people care about Tiger Woods' domestic arrangements, even people who never play golf. I think it has something to do with his fame, maybe. Supposing somebody said, “That guy who plays the concertina outside the Superstore is having some kinda marital problem, I fear”, nobody would care, not even people who know who he is. But if millions of other people knew who he was—if he had been on TV or in magazines—then it would be interesting, because he becomes a kind of currency. Famous people belong to us in a way that our closest friends don't, so it's kind of heart-warming, I guess.
And it's near impossible for those of us who really don't care about Tiger Woods' private life to avoid hearing about it. There is a certain comfort, I suppose, in knowing that someone other than one's self has had a drink thrown in his face, etc.
That "etc." stuff was even worse.