Z: When our friend P suggested we write about the Anthony Weiner kerfuffle, I thought, “Pass.”

She: There’s been way too much comedy already done. What could we do that Jon Stewart hasn’t?

Z: I did think it might be challenging to write an entire column without any double entendres.

She: Way too hard. I mean, way too difficult.

Z: And then it turned out that we did find something to talk about: is what he did cheating?

She: I have the answer. Yes. That was a short column. Should we talk about the new airport terminal now?

Z: I don’t know. I think we should look at the whole spectrum.

She: OK. There’s cheating and there’s not cheating. He cheated. A slightly longer column, but thanks for joining us.

Z: Let’s start with porn. Is porn cheating?

She: Fine, I’ll play along. No. There’s only one of you. I’ll give you porn, under specific circumstances, in small doses.

Z: How about interactive porn? Like one of those call lines, or paid video chat?

She: Is that what you do in your office in the garage?

Z: No. I’m watching HGTV videos on home improvement, but quickly switch to porn when you come in so you won’t think I’m weird.

She: If only … I’m not sure about that one.

Z: OK, a gray area. So now we move on to a live person on the other end of the phone or the computer who isn’t being paid.

She: Now you’re moving into cheating.

Z: Why?

She: It’s tricky to define, but like Justice Potter Stewart said, I know it when I see it.

Z: But let’s say that there’s never any contact with the other person, that they live in another state and you never even meet them. I think this is basically the Weiner case.

She: But they were texting nasty things to each other. Funny, funny, nasty X-rated things, best learned about in a staged reading by Bill Maher and Jane Lynch, but still nasty things.

Z: So it’s a little freaky, but it’s private. It’s between these two people.

She: One of whom is not his wife.

Z: But they never meet. They never touch. There’s no actual sex, or even a kiss.

She: But there’s an actual other person. They’re exchanging intimacies, no matter how absurd-seeming to me. Honestly, there’s not a man in the world who would turn me on by sending me a picture of his penis.

Z: Excuse me for a moment. I have to, uh, check my email.

She: George Clooney, Johnny Depp, John Cusack, doesn’t matter who. Just seems weird, no matter how you slice it.

Z: Ow.

She: Anyway, the tweeting thing, aside from being weird and not sexy, definitely feels like a breach of trust with his wife.

Z: What if technology wasn’t an issue? What if they were sending each other letters instead of texts or tweets?

She: Probably worse. Letters feel almost romantic.

Z: Unless they were writing the same dirty things they sexted to each other, and he sketched a picture of his penis. Old school.

She: Less romantic, but still cheating.

Z: I think we’ve already found the dividing line for you, but let’s just make sure. A kiss?

She: A romantic kiss, absolutely cheating. And everything beyond. Why? Where do you draw the line?

Z: It turns out that this is a tricky conversation to have with your wife.

She: Do you have a confession?

Z: Not even a little one. It turns out that I draw the line the same place you do, although maybe for different reasons.

She: Oh, really.

Z: I think it has to do with the marriage. I wouldn’t want to do anything that would hurt you, and knowing it would hurt you if I tweeted a picture of my penis to a stripper in Vegas is the sole thing that prevents me from doing that. Otherwise, that would pretty much be me, every night.

She: At least the nights that you’re not passed out in front of The Daily Show and don’t have the energy left to even find the camera, let alone read the manual and figure out Twitter.

Z: Yes, dear.

— Tell She and Z what you think by emailing leslie@lesliedinaberg.com. Click here for previous She Said, Z Said columns. Follow Leslie Dinaberg on Twitter.