For a few terrifying moments last week, Sandra Fluke wanted to be my congressman.
Opps, I mean congresswoman. Wait, I’m being gender normative again and assuming you can only be “male” or “female.” That’s so sexist. Probably racist too.
Ok, let me try again. For a couple days, Sandra Fluke wanted to be my congressbeing.
Wait, is that beingist? Trying to be as PC as my progressive milieu is so hard sometimes.
See, I live in the South Bay area of Los Angeles, which is in California’s 33rd Congressional District. The 33rd was designed by the totally nonpartisan, neutral and independent redistricting commission to writhe and twist its way up the coast, gathering into one district every pinko, commie and goose-stepping liberal fascist within whining distance of the Pacific Ocean. Michael Barone would know for sure, but I think my district is something like Obama +42.
Let me put it this way: As a conservative veteran who believes in God, the flag and never, ever hugging, I count as “diversity” for pretty much everyone I know here.
Our current congressman is Henry Waxman, that youthful, vibrant, and fresh face of liberalism. After 40 years, he has an unbroken record of being wrong on every single issue. He is retiring, having failed in his quest to destroy America as the Founders imagined it.
And Sandra Fluke announced that she was going to complete his life’s work.
You know, as I went about my daily business here in the South Bay, at the beach, in the bars, then in other bars, I could feel the excitement Sandra Fluke’s potential candidacy generated. After all, our biggest issue here is how to address the needs of grown women in law school who can’t figure out how to pay for their own birth control.
Now, I was a grown man in law school once, and I somehow managed to pay for my own birth control. But I can’t presume to understand the personal struggles of a 31 year old woman like Sandra Fluke who was unable to figure out how to come up with the dough for her own contraceptives. To even try would be a patriarchal microaggression of macro proportions. And the last thing I want to do is microaggress by expecting a woman to meet the same standards of self-sufficiency as a man.
Frankly, I’m a little disappointed by her lack of feminist ambition. Sandra Fluke only expected someone else to pay for her birth control. She could have gone full Wendy Davis and expected someone else to pay for her entire legal education.