The title says it all: "Don't Tell My Husband." Despite the fact that the 2010 census listed the occupations of 57 percent of American adults as "sex educator" and the number one college major Polyamory, people are still having clandestine sex.
Krissy Lynn simply should not be allowed to drive. She doesn't have insurance, yet has banged up several vehicles with her stupid green Prius, the latest being one that belongs to Anthony Rosano.
She begs Rosano to not tell her husband when he confronts her.
"How did you end up fixing the other ones without insurance?" Rosano says.
As she steps toward him and the sex scene begins, we have a brief freeze-frame moment when Rosano casts a sidelong glance at the camera, as if to say "Fucked out of my insurance money again."
Krissy Lynn wears neither wedding ring nor shoes, making adultery easier.
Come to think of it, Rosano says, "it'll probably buff right out."
What makes this otherwise unremarkable scene (though Lynn and Rosano don't slouch on that cheap couch) is the fact that, faced with a police report and loss of income, infidelity seems like a viable alternative; just another transaction. We worry about Krissy Lynn's marriage, as falsehood piles atop falsehood. We worry, too, that perhaps she gets into these fender benders on purpose.
Then we stop worrying, because she's just so juicy, and maybe her spirituality has led her down this path, and it's right that her husband not know.
The point is, it's a journey. But maybe Krissy Lynn should walk next time.