Despite (or maybe because) of the financial turmoil and general aimlessness and desperation that have characterized these post-collegiate months, some days, I just have to fall down in hysterics.
A woman in a speeding minivan nearly mowed me down in a parking lot today. As I watched her drive away, sans apology, I noticed a peculiar sticker on the back of her car.
“Thank GOD Your Mother Was Pro-Life.”
The irony was palpable.
Of course, there was also something mind-bogglingly moronic about the statement being expressed. I wanted to run after the woman’s car and yell, “MY MOTHER IS PRO-CHOICE AND SHE HAD TWO KIDS INCLUDING ME!” I don’t know what would that have achieved, but the look on her face may have been worth it.
This is the sort of shallow rhetoric that most of us pro-choicers have to put with on a regular basis. It assumes that every single woman who has ever carried a child to term is automatically going to want to join their camp. It attempts to speak for all mothers indicriminately, hence implying that a womb and a brain are mutually exclusive. It’s politics disguised as piety.
Well, bugger that, I say. What the hell does “pro-life” mean to a person who drives around parking lots at well over 50 mph anyway?
The good thing about Durham, of course, is that there are probably a lot of people giving her the finger as she drives by. Durham is awesome like that.
As for me, I stood in the parking lot and laughed, and laughed.
Now I want to go out for some drinkies and drown out the sorrow of being poor and over-taxed, all the while watching money flow into wingut organizations, at least one of which that awful woman is likely to be part of.