From Cuckhold to Wittol

  

wittol - noun - a man who knows of and tolerates his wife's infidelity (Lexico.com)

I have to admit that five minutes ago, I didn't know that wittol existed. However, I am aware of cuckold. The term is used quite a bit in classic 19th century novels, usually to refer to an old, rich geezer married to a beautiful young nymph who can't seem to be faithful to her boring, infirm hubby. Her cuckolding him results in derision aimed at him, naturally. Others, particularly his male peers, see him as laughable since he is unable to "control" his woman. Tolstoy's Anna Karenina is my favorite of these books. Anna's husband does know of her infidelity, but tolerates it only up to a point. If you read the book, you already know that what he thinks of her dalliance with her military man soon becomes superfluous at the end. 

On the other hand, wittols are not merely a product of the literary past. There are quite a few out there in reality. For example, an ex beau of mine knew his wife was cheating on him. In fact he couldn't help but noticing as she dangled her younger lover, a college professor, right in front of him like a 4-H-blue-ribbon carrot. Still, he was unprepared to grant her a divorce. What? Finally, he was forced to because she wanted to marry the academic. And he, the wittol, of course, wanted to date me. It worked out fairly well for all parties involved until I happened upon another lover myself and left the man who had been left. Needless to say, Fate wasn't too kind to the wittol. Later, though, he married his office manager, the next woman that looked at him, and as far as I know, they are still married. The guy got himself somewhat of a Hollywood ending after all. His wife is too unattractive to cuckold him, so he probably feels secure. It happens. 

Needless to say, wittols don't like being wittols. Many have to be because they simply can't afford to divorce. After a few hard years, their once straight-arrow marriages take a turn in another direction, going from linear to incurved, from closed to open. I guess this romantic modernity could work, but if I were the wittol, the divergent arrow of infidelity would puncture my blow-up kayak of equanimity. Basically, I'd rather swim than sink to new lows morally. But to each her/his/their own, right? Who am I to judge? In the end, I suppose that wittols wind up loving their wives too much. And sometimes when you love someone that much, you, like that arrow, can't quite see straight. It happens. 

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