That's just twisted, sister

I saw a television commercial last night in which a young guy with a guitar was singing about how much he resented his wife and wished he'd never married her ... because of her bad credit score.

Furthermore, had he known her impropitious credit history up front, he sings, he would never have tied the knot.

But now he's stuck with this asshole loser of a wife and has to dwell within objectionable premises instead of the house he'd reasonably expected to occupy—four bedrooms, presumably, with granite counter tops, cherrywood cabinets, stainless-steel appliances, Mediterranean marble, and open floor plan—all on account of her crappy credit.

The whole point of this juvenile musical cautionary tale is to convince you and me to go to some Web site for the free credit reports capable of saving us from all the bitches and bastards in the world who would marry us without divulging unpaid cell-phone cancellation fees. Our disgruntled balladeer would be happily "batching it" today, he asserts, had he had access to such a service as this (as we now thank-God do).

Well, speaking as the father of five daughters, I wish he had had access to it. His wife's the one who got the shit end of the stick ("short end" being the sanitized form) from that superficial shit-heel.

This free-credit-report commercial troubles me, though, on a more fundamental level than troublesome credit scores:

Have we, as a society, or worse yet a species, reached the abominable point where we can sympathize with and be persuaded by the crybaby plaints of some shallow-wading simpleton who despises his brand new wife for something as fundamentally meaningless as her marginally blemished credit history?

As much as I hope not, I reckon we have. A commercial promoting reasoning as twisted as this, however comically cloaked, would seem to say so.

So score one for due diligence over tender understanding, abiding love, and a marriage of two hearts.

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