Don't ask, don't tell. It's gross, okay?

I am a big believer in “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” It makes a lot of sense to me on many levels, none of which have anything to do with gays in the military.
Well, maybe it has a little to do with gays in the military. I believe homosexuals and heterosexuals have the same inalienable rights, including the right to sign up for years of bad food, poverty wages and travel to war-ridden lands.
But I’m not going to ask gays about their sex lives -- and I certainly don’t want them to tell me about it. I’m not, in fact, going to ask anyone about their sex life, and this applies to all public figures (particularly, it seems, governors) suffering from incurable verbal diarrhea. Please pardon the profanity here, but they have got to shut the fuck up. It’s bad enough that they cannot control their equipment. But let’s face it -- they’re hardly alone in that respect.
What makes them so spectacularly unique is their predilection for trying to explain. I was ready to believe Gov. Mark Sanford was misquoted when he said that though his mistress is his “soulmate,” he’s trying to work things out with his wife. Then I heard it with my own ears. Seriously? Is his wife a blow-up doll? Because that’s the only way I can imagine it working at this point.
Then former New York governor (and serial john) Elliott Spitzer weighed in on the Sanford affair. While trying to defend the indefensible, Spitzer pointed out that “at least” he didn’t fall in love with the hooker he was screwing. That seemed a little self-righteous for a man who so recently lost the respect of nearly every person on the planet. Did Harvard not offer any classes on the Basics of Discretion?
So it’s convenient that the Obama administration is scrutinizing “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” I believe it’s high time the phrase be taken out of the military realm and applied to the general population. Do not misconstrue this as a way of excusing indiscretions such as adultery and improperly using taxpayer dollars to be skanky. Gov. Sanford, I am not going to ask you how many times you had sex with your girlfriend from Argentina. Please, in return, don’t tell me.
I know this will be difficult to enforce because, in my experience, men love to share details. I know a few men, in fact, who are perfectly comfortable sharing such intimacies at cocktail parties, baseball games, and in grocery lines -- often with people they barely know . It provides for some hilarity, of course, especially when alcohol is involved. Still, I must say I find it appalling.
I’m not sure I want Husband indicating to anyone that he finds me attractive, much less admit that we’ve ever had sex. And the same goes for the intricacies of our relationship. If he needs to work out some kinks during those rare (okay, frequent) times when I am indisputably unlovable, he can talk to one or two friends who have been approved by me for that purpose. Otherwise, he must keep it to himself. And in the event that things don’t work out between us, after he’s released from the hospital he certainly can’t go on national television and announce to the world that he’s fallen out of love with me, regardless of whether he says it with a twinge of regret.
So today, on the Fourth of July, when Americans worldwide are celebrating our independence and the freedom we have to express ourselves, I’d like to suggest that we also celebrate our freedom to be quiet. Really. C’mon. Just shut the fuck up.