In the past, I’ve talked to my close friends about cheating – either needing to confess, or looking for the scolding I deserve. I’ve been met with mixed responses. A few of my friends could be classed as serial cheaters, and pin it down to “human nature”. I ask them why they do it and one says she’s always cheated on boys with girls because she hasn’t wanted to properly address her sexuality. Another jokes that it sounds pretentious however she puts it; “A streak of hedonism?” she offers. “Or an inclination to destroy?” a male friend shrugged; “I just can’t help it”. The faithful ones are quick to point out that I’ve never been cheated on, or at least, not to my knowledge. “If it had happened to you, you’d know how it feels,” they say. Then there are the disinterested ones that aren’t afraid to say what you really don’t want to hear, which is the simplest question of all: “Why don’t you just stop doing it?”