Last month, the Washington Post Magazine printed an "XX Files" essay by Wanda Fleming. In "Suspended Disbelief," Fleming wrote about struggling with the news that a friend's husband had been accused of sexually assaulting a young girl. The essay's sub-head reads, "Guilty or not, it's a tragedy." After a correction to the piece was published in Sunday's magazine, the "or not" scenario seems a lot less likely.

Writes editor Tom Shroder:

The column had factual errors, and editors in the Magazine, including me, failed to catch them. The author wrote that the man had been talked into accepting a plea agreement, and implied that there had been only one accuser. In fact, the man had turned down the plea offer, and had been tried and convicted. Also, more than one girl made accusations. The inescapable conclusion is that the man's guilt was not as ambiguous as presented. No names were used, but the families of the victims only too readily recognized the circumstances and were understandably upset by the implication of the story.

The correction, as appended to the piece online, seems like it could be an honest mistake: "This column incorrectly indicated that a man accused of molesting a child had pleaded guilty as part of a plea agreement. He was found guilty in a bench trial." A letter from the victim's grandmother, also published in Sunday's edition, is far more revealing. She writes:

[The article's author] did the right thing when she instinctively shielded her daughter from a convicted child molester. Even though the "facts" she reports are far from accurate, they provide sufficient detail for the case to be recognized by those of us affected by it. Denial may well be a survival tool for the molester's wife and sons. However, the families of the children molested by this man could not then, and can not now, afford denial.

These parents listened with growing horror when their daughters told what happened while watching movies with this trusted family friend and his children. They berated themselves over and over again for being so gullible—why did they not suspect the repeated invitations for movie afternoons? They saw their reputation and credibility destroyed by friends of this "affable" seeming man. [The author should] please tell her daughter that not all bad guys look like bad guys!

I am the proud grandmother of one of the young girls who had the courage to tell her story to detectives and social workers; to stand alone, without the comfort of a parent, in front of a grand jury; and, in a crowded court-room to testify and be cross-examined in the presence of the man who molested her. This man was convicted.

I understand why the molester and his wife wanted this story written. I do not understand why the Post saw fit to print it. It can only reopen barely healed wounds.

Fleming's piece, at first glance, offers a compelling insight into what happens when an old friend is branded a monster. In light of the piece's factual inaccuracies, however, the author comes off as callous to the molester's victims—young girls who spoke out about being sexually abused, only to be discredited in the Washington Post.

Take this mention of one victim:

For a moment, it looks like her husband might be exonerated. A rumor swirls that the child has expressed sorrow for him and his family. But although the rumor proves true, it comes to nothing.

An 8-year-old molestation victim apologizing to her molester is not an alibi for your friend. It's another symptom of what he did to her.

Or this one:

"Do you think she'll ever recant?" I ask. "Maybe when she's older?"

A fair question from a friend of an accused molester. But one that seems a lot less fair when you know that "she" is actually "they." Do you think all the victims will recant, maybe when they're older? Here is where reasonable doubt turns to conspiracy theory.

How about this final mention of the molester, after he returns from prison: "the accused comes to pick up his wife."

But he's not "the accused." He's not even "the guy who took the plea bargain." He's "the convicted." His reputation hasn't just been tarnished by rumor and accusation—it's been confirmed by the courts. Now, it's not just Fleming's friend whose reputation has been tainted. The young victims, like so many victims of sexual assault, have also had their dignity dragged through the mud.

Photo by decade null.

* Slate's XX Factor hashes it out over Rick Warren. Sara Mosley hates Warren, but admits that "engagement with the other side" sometimes "makes everyone a little unhappy and uncomfortable." Noreen Malone thinks Obama's "selling out." Hannah Rosin thinks this is all "liberal group think" that amounts to "pretending evangelicals don't exist"—and calls to let Warren speak for himself.

* In inauguration dating news: This 40-year-old seeks a date for a ball; this out-of-town 26-year-old is looking for a place to stay—not for the inauguration, just any old time.

* Local poet Sandra Beasley wrote this week's XX Files essay on how to fake it: If "it" means becoming an impromptu motorcycle model for a televised magic show:

The director hadn't instructed us on attitude, so I kept rotating expressions. Ten seconds smiling. Ten second scowling. Ten seconds of terrified, we're-crushing-him! face. We kept rolling. Down the ramp. Steve cut the engine.

"That's it?" I asked.

* The Candy Pitch presents: The Twelve Days of Christmas, burlesque style.

Photo via trialsanderrors.

Naughty Meanspirited Awesome: They didn't stand a chance. In last week's Date Lab, Washington Post's resident sadists set up "Chrissy," a 24-year old recruiter, with "Clay," a 24-year-old farmer. Farmer and "recruiter"—a natural pairing, no?

No. By the time Clay set his eyes on Chrissy, it was clear that no Green Acres sparks would be a-flying. "She looked like a D.C. professional. And she was not fat in any way, but she was heavier than the girls I typically go out with," he told interviewer Kelly DiNardo. Chrissy's lifestyle was also a bit heavy for Clay. "I've been through the night-life thing. I did it in high school and college. Heavily," said Clay, who, in his pre-date questionnaire, claimed to be looking for a woman like "Fergie in Black Eyed Peas," a recovered meth addict.

When asked in a pre-date questionnaire how he is "D.C.," Clay responded that "a farmer with a Beemer is dynamic in all environments." When asked how he's not "D.C.," Clay responded, "I am a farmer." Clay also noted that he was happiest "outside, working hard at my farm."

Chrissy, who is not a farmer, described the remainder of the date. "He graduated with his master's in agriculture this past May. Now he raises cattle. I've never even met a farmer or cattle rancher," Chrissy said, adding, "I said on my Date Lab questionnaire that I wanted a cowboy, but I was doing that tongue-in-cheek." Clay countered, "Women like the idea of a cowboy. A cowboy wears a cowboy hat every day. I'm not cool enough to wear a cowboy hat every day. I'm more of a farmer."

Date Lab notes that "The daters don't plan to see each other again." It does not, however, record the number of inter-office high-fives received by Date Lab's mail opener on the date Clay's application rolled in. Thanks for taking one for the team, Chrissy.

Nice: XX Files' "Hot for Hillary," an essay by self-described "woman of a certain age" Mary Burgan. The title, which makes little sense, Burgan describes her experience working the phone banks during the Clinton campaign—and enduring her husband's Obama support. "I felt a pull of loyalty, for despite my concerns about her lack of spontaneity and the dullness of her stump speech, I believed that she would be the last and most credible woman in my lifetime with a shot at being president," wrote Burgan. "Actually, I was a bit surprised to discover how much that meant to me and how angry I could get at men who didn't see the matter's extreme importance."

Burgan allows herself to inject some humor into that premise, though, making a killer Cash Cab joke and several old folks jabs along the way. In the essay, Burgan displayed a certain social grace that Jezebel's Moe Tkacik found missing from the rheteric of some die-hard Hillary supporters. There was only one point of strangeness in the text, when Burgan says a fellow volunteer at the phone bank told her "There's a special hell for women who don't help women." What, no Palin/Starbucks joke follow up? You're showing your age, Burgan.

But if the prose doesn't convince you, Burgan's mug might:

I love this woman.