Now that my position is clear with regard to fatuous, self-absorbed "dime-pieces", as it were, I have to make a distinction between such women and those who are beautiful inside AND out. I happen to think Michelle Obama is such a woman. If she thinks highly of herself, it may well be as much due to a sense of accomplishment as her awareness of her looks. Women like Michelle Obama are the anti-Lindsay Lohans of the world; they know what they have going for them and rock it like a Vera Wang dress, rather than a tawdry little hot pink spandex rag off the rack at Conway.
I have no idea who Greg Kelly's accuser is. She could be as well-rounded and classy as the First Lady herself. But as I've illustrated, I know a li'l something about how these snotty uptown tarts roll. That and 40+ years of hard-earned mother wit tell me this child likely couldn't carry Mrs. Obama's earrings in a Tiffany pouch.
The tale as it's being told by the media just never made sense. A chance meeting in the street followed by a flurry of sexually charged text messages, a rendezvous at a hip dive bar, followed by an after-hours visit to her boss's office -- because that pesky detail of an unsuspecting boyfriend was at her place watching the Food Network. Rape? Where? How? The story had all the earmarks of a by-the-numbers big city hook-up! I've been there! Mike Tyson has been there -- and did time for it!
Look: An educated guess holds that once it was plain to the "princess" that Greg was strictly into the hook-up and not HER, her ego suffered a serious jolt. How was she supposed to deal with the reality that, in Greg's eyes, she was just another floozy ready to worship him based solely on an infatuation she had developed for his TV persona? Who did he think he was, anyway, to have sampled her fruit, then wander away like a casual browser at a farmer's market? My God, she is an aspiring model/actress, a paralegal at a prominent New York law firm, the daughter of a renowned attorney and the girlfriend of a rugged, Crocodile Dundee-type. These things simply don't happen to women of her caliber.
Though what she did the night the alleged attack took place was classically Sex In the City sleazy-as-cosmopolitan, duplicitous and just stupid, didn't girls in her league have carte blanche to do that? Wouldn't a night of white-hot passion with Greg Kelly snag her a higher profile boyfriend and maybe boost her standing with the Pretty People set? You betcha! But it wasn't to be. She had sold herself cheap, and Greg had somehow eluded her grasp. If she actually felt violated, it had to be grounded in wounded pride; she had allowed herself to be drafted into the shameful ranks of groupies who didn't know they were groupies...until HE stopped calling and texting and went about his business.
There's no doubt the boyfriend had noticed the profound effect this all had on her. He likely had questions. How could she answer them honestly? Maybe she yada-yada'd the part about delightedly grabbing her ankles for Greg in the luxury and privacy of her boss's office, leaving the cuckold with some hope that he wasn't a total dupe. He, too, seems to be a victim of his own pride. What self-respecting guy wants to believe that the woman of his dreams would drop her drawers within a few hours of meeting some other guy on the street, even if he is famous?
A guy in the boyfriend's shoes has two options: (1) embrace the whole "after a night of drinking with a handsome, unattached celebrity, I brought him back to my boss's office for a nice chat that I thought would end with a friendly handshake, where he forced himself on me after I passed out drunk" goof; or (2) dump her silly butt, PRONTO. Not only did this poor, lovelorn dope buy that cockamamie rap, but he did what any gallant guardian of his beloved's virtue would: He accosted the accused's father at a public event!
Part III to come...
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