I have a hard time believing the rumors of a John Edwards’ engagement to Rielle Hunter, the wacky videographer whose pregnancy with and birth of Edwards’ youngest child brought down a presidential campaign and a famously adored couple’s marriage.
Not only can’t I believe that he’d remarry so soon after the death of his estranged wife, Elizabeth, but I can’t believe he even thinks marriage is a good idea at this point.
So what if there had been the promise of post-mortum roof-tops nuptials, Dave Matthews and happily ever after? Once news of that alleged cheesy-ness blew up in the quirky couple’s faces, you’d think — you’d think! — they would settle for a shared residence, divided chores and a joint Netflix account.
Not so according the National Enquirer, which, yes, I know. (But they were right on the whole baby thing.) What’s astounding is that if the rumors are true, why would Edwards agree to suffer more ridicule and indignity in going through with an official marriage?
Why wouldn’t they just do as a growing number of American couples with a child do and live together? Without the proposal, official documentation and white wedding dresses.
In 2009, there were nearly 5 million unmarried couples who were committed long-term. More than 40 percent of all children born in the U.S. are born into families with unmarried parents. While unmarried, committed couples don’t enjoy all of the benefits and protections of legally married couples — quite an argument right there for gay marriage — one has to ask whether Hunter and Edwards even need the benefits bestowed on those inside the old-fashioned institution.
I’d go so far as saying Edwards could begin to rehabilitate, in part, his reputation if he and Hunter don’t get married, even if they choose to live together. Bonus points if he takes little darling Quinn to doctors’ appointments. Extra bonus points if she puts on a pair of pants! Then, after a few years, proving they’re in in for the long haul, they could exchange rings in a small basement ceremony, a Beatles tribute band headlining the reception. (It’s just an idea!)
Of course, as with anyone else’s matrimonial desires, it’s none of my business. Do it. Don’t do it. I doesn’t bother me one bit. I’m just astounded that if — again if — it’s true, why would they willingly put themselves back in the penalty box of shame? You’d think they both would have had enough.