Bear with me here as I put on my asbestos suit.
[shuffle shuffle shuffle]
OK: Here’s the thing I’ve been wondering for a while. I am happily married, and yet once in a while I can’t help thinking to myself, “whoa, Nellie, look at that filly’s gams/knockers/what have you” and realize that I do indeed have a biological urge to cheerfully spread my seed as far and wide as possible. But the thing is, I don’t. And even if I didn’t love my wife as much as I do, I would still feel a sense of responsibility toward her family, my family and our child to keep my pants well zipped.
So, I have this biological urge that, if unchecked, would make me a serial cheater. And yet I keep this urge in check and conform to a (biologically) unnatural state of monogomy, to a large extent due to a feeling that I ought to conform to the social role of a Married Man and Father.
So . . . am I “living a lie” à la Alex Keaton’s mom, or what?
(Exposition of explicit parallels available upon request.)