Clear the air

Dear Dr. Lovemonkey,

I recently logged onto to my husband’s AOL account by accident. In doing so, I noticed an unusual e-mail address. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the e-mail. It was from a woman who I don’t know, and she’s apparently been corresponding regularly with my husband. It seems like a networking kind of correspondence, but for some reason my husband has deleted all the e-mails from this woman. I can see his responses to her e-mails, however, which seem pretty innocent.

I believe that my husband and I have no secrets, so this situation is eating me up. I’ve tried to engage him in conversations like, "Get any interesting e-mails lately?", but he hasn’t taken the bait. I feel like I can’t ask him about it, because looking at his e-mail was wrong. I’m just not sure what to do.

— C.P.

Dear C.P.,

You have a couple of options. You can continue to wonder and worry, or you can ’fess up. Explain that you accidentally opened his e-mail account and saw an unfamiliar address, and ask him what it was. At this point, you don’t have to admit to snooping. If your husband has any brains whatsoever, he can assume you might have opened the letter and read it. Of course, he might be angry and ask if you did open the mail, at which point you must acknowledge that you did.

Assuming that it’s an innocent "networking" correspondence, I’d think he would tell you who this person is and why he’s corresponding with her. It may all be quite innocent, or they may have devised an elaborate system of codes. I suspect he feels guilty since even corresponding with another woman is a betrayal of sorts -- which means he at least has an active conscience.

It’s your call: if it’s really eating away at you, you’ll have to be prepared to tell your husband what you did. If you won’t do that, you’ll have to live with it. I suggest you face the music, and with some discomfort, clear the air.

Dear Dr. Lovemonkey,

I was watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s the other day on AMC. This is supposed to be a classic "romantic" film. Somehow, I didn’t get that. So what’s up?

— Eddie

Dear Eddie,

Sounds like you understand the film, Eddie. It’s "romantic" like the movie Pretty Woman (where a hooker and a rich asshole make our hearts go pitter pat) is romantic, or in the way that the Starr Report chronicles the great love story of Bill and Monica. To get a better sense of the storyline, it’s instructive to read the more explicit novella by Truman Capote (a man whose personal knowledge of whoredom was quite extensive) upon which the film is based.

Audrey Hepburn plays a call girl, who, since this came from Hollywood, circa 1961, manages to sustain a thriving business without actually sleeping with any of her "customers" (no Monica Blew-him-sky here). George Peppard is a gigolo, being kept and paid by the "older woman" he’s servicing, Patricia Neal. This is also classic Hollywood: in real life, Neal was 35, Peppard, 33, and Hepburn, 32. (If you find this charming, you’ll undoubtedly dampen your slacks with glee every time Mickey Rooney appears as Hepburn and Peppard’s Japanese neighbor. It’s still a mystery to Dr. Lovemonkey that Rooney didn’t choke to death from extensive scenery chewing.)

The extent to which people perceive this to be a feel-good, romantic film can only be attributed to the enigmatic Ms. Hepburn. Take away Audrey and the movie’s no better than The Arleen Wuornos Story on Lifetime. It’s certainly not the anti-charismatic pre-A-Team George Peppard that explains the film’s continued popularity. In fact, after last watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I remember praying that when Peppard makes his first appearance, emerging from a cab on East 71st Street, that Mr. T would be revealed as the cab driver. Can’t they do that sort of stuff with the magic of digital computers?