Quiara turned to Greg, so he began. “Biologically, a man cheating on a woman is not an equivalent offense to a woman cheating on a man. They are different acts with different causes, executions, impacts, and outcomes.”
This answer stunned the table.
Gerhart, the bearded professor from Bremen quickly asked, “If they aren’t the same, which is worse?” In his thick accent, the W was pronounced as a V.
You could hear a pin drop at the table. Everyone wanted to know the answer. Even Greg’s wife Quiara was looking at Greg expectantly.
“Biologically, it is much worse when a female cheats on a male than the other way around,” Greg said.
Kailey taking her cue, groaned out loud. “Ah, come on, that just male patriarch hyperbole bullshit! Women have been oppressed by men for all of human history and are much more vulnerable when their mates choose to abandon them.”
The table descended into pandemonium and chaos and Greg leaned back and breathed a sign of relief. Greg made eye contact with Quiara, who smiled back and then made eye contact with Kailey. Kailey actually had to do a two-finger whistle to get the arguments and discussion to die down.
“Everyone agreed that if an argument erupted, that we’d agree to disagree,” said Kailey. “Time for a new topic. I would really like to hear what Churan has to say about that conference she just got back from in Beijing.”
In the sudden silence, everyone looked around the table and Churan wasn’t there. Churan’s husband Chen said, “Sorry, she just left to go to the ladies room. She’ll be back in a few minutes.”
In the silence, Elodie’s lightly accented soprano voice suddenly piped up. “Why is it worse? I would like to know.”
There was something both compelling and emotionally vulnerable with her request for the information. She sounded as if she desperately needed to know the answer. This caught everyone’s attention. Greg silently swore in his own head. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Quiara was instantly grinding my foot like she was heal-toeing a seventies-era Formula One race car.
“Look, this discussion is controversial and it is about to go off the rails,” pronounced Greg. “Please don’t make me ruin the Christmas party.”
“Solstice party!” called out Dorotea, predictably. When Dorotea was born in Maryland, her parents named her Dorthy. She’d met and married her husband Pietro while studying Italian literature in Turin. She started calling herself Dorotea after she married him and took his last name. It was good for her career as a scholar of Italian literature.
Greg took silence to be consent, and started to breathe a sigh of relief that his run in the mine field was over. Unfortunately, resident axe-grinder Radu spoke up. “Aren’t you an expert in this field, Greg? This is what you’ve done your last few research papers on, isn’t it?”
“Yes Radu, you are correct,” replied Greg. “This type of question is all over my CV. However, my expertise won’t make it any less controversial.”
“I want to hear your considered opinion, Greg.” said Radu, with a flash of victory in his expression. The man was an epic pot stirrer.