Well, America: you win. Rielle Hunter, who burned herself into the public’s eyeballs after an affair with then-married-to-a-cancer-patient Presidential candidate John Edwards that resulted in a child and a short lived career giving jaw droppingly gross interviews, is sorry. She’s so sorry she did all those things she did, and she’s especially sorry that she wrote a book about it. And she’s TRIPLE PLUS SORRY that the book about all that awful stuff is now for sale wherever books are sold. And now I am sorry for making you read that letter about how sorry Rielle Hunter is.
Her letter, published on the Huffington Post, is exactly the sort of terrible masterpiece a person might expect from an individual most famous for posing pantslessly next to her daughter’s bed full of stuffed Muppets. Plug your nose; let’s get started.
I behaved badly. That may seem obvious to you but it’s taken me a long time to admit that, even to myself. For years I was so viciously attacked by the media and the world that I felt like a victim. I now realize that the attacks are actually beside the point. The point is: I behaved badly.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you read this paragraph. I see now that you suspected, as you were reading it, that it was just a set to a shitheel spike coming in the next paragraph. You were right. I’m very sorry for what you’re about to read.
I am very sorry for my wrong, selfish behavior. Back in 2006, I did not think about the scope of my actions, how my falling in love with John Edwards, and acting on that love, could hurt so many people. I hurt Elizabeth and her kids. I hurt her family. I hurt John’s family. I hurt people that knew Elizabeth. I hurt people who didn’t know Elizabeth but loved her from afar. I hurt people who gave their hard earned dollars to a campaign — a cause they believed in. I hurt people who are married and believe in marriage. Many of these people have let me know that I hurt them. Unfortunately, I was not thinking about anyone but myself. I was selfish. I fell in love with John Edwards and wanted to be with him and that desire trumped everything else.
I deeply ashamed that not only did I read that paragraph multiple times, I subjected you to it as well, because I selfishly did not want to be alone in my feelings of confusion. I forced you to read Rielle’s apology to the dead woman whose husband she made a sex tape with. I’m sorry for ending that last sentence with a dangling preposition. And I’m especially sorry — though I know it’s not my fault — that the trope of the unavoidable love affair exists in culture to the extent that people use it as an excuse to justify their inexcusable behavior. Just because people have hormones doesn’t mean they lose the ability to control themselves. I’m sorry if you feel judged, but that’s just what I think.
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