From the Los Angeles Times, this very funny op-ed piece from one Sarah Miller. I confess, I have never heard of her, but I want to be her friend, if only for having the balls to submit this essay.
What I'm trying to say is that it's my fault that Rielle Hunter had an affair with John Edwards. It's my fault his display of moral laxness let down his supporters, let down the country. It's my fault he cheated on his cancer-stricken wife and betrayed his three children.
She goes on to describe how she, a New Yorker, moved to Los Angeles post-9/11, and rented a room in Benedict Canyon. After she moved out, her room was subsequently occupied by Rielle Hunter, who accosts Ms. Miller at a cocktail party.
She looked up, her face lit with happy incredulity. "You wrote that article that was published in an actual book that is in stores, in the room I sleep in. In the bed I sleep in." The homeowner had told her I wrote in bed. "It's amazing," Rielle said. "I can feel your energy in there.""But ... I have been gone for so long," I protested. "Surely my energy has decamped as well."This had no effect on her. She kept staring at me, that weird glaze still over her face. "Oh, no," she said. "You have really strong energy, and I can feel it in there, and it's telling me what I want to be.""And what is that?" I asked, knowing that it was probably too much to hope that what she wanted to be was the person who would get me another drink and then go away."I am going to be famous," Rielle said. "Rich and famous. I am going to meet a rich, powerful man."