Who knows why people cheat -- too little attention, too much attention, fear, boredom? For me, it's always been the excitement principle -- the promise of being naked with someone new, the physical draw and the universe willing me to lean in. When you consider the counter-force, the prissy and principled I'm not going to do that, it doesn't seem like a fair fight. But so far it works; fidelity always wins.

I never did kiss Diego, back in the ruins of Palermo. Sure I wanted to, but it seemed small, childish. Too easy.

And now I have a strategy for ducking temptation. No, I don't imagine my husband's loving face. The notion of telling myself it's not worth it, don't throw it all away, blah, blah, blah -- that doesn't work for me. Instead, every time I sense it could happen, every moment I find myself attracted to someone and crossing into too flirty, I tell my husband. Because once I confess to him my lust for the hot bartender at the tapas place, I lose interest. Of course, copping to even a potential infidelity is not the most pleasant conversation. When I told my husband about Diego, he was understandably pissed. But then two things happened: He and I became closer, and Diego lost his sheen.

If there's such a thing as a cheating gene, it's not the same as attached earlobes; it predisposes us to a possibility, not a certainty. I'll know when I want to cheat, and because of my take-it-like-cough-medicine method, my husband will, too. I can vacuum the mystery right out of it and make my marriage stronger in the process. Maybe infidelity wasn't the only gene I got from my father. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I got his fortitude as well.

Danielle Pergament wrote about Iraqi women forced into prostitution for the August '08 issue of Marie Claire. She lives with her husband in New York.

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