Recently, I learned that the real reason that I voted for Obama was because I had inadvertantly let my ovaries hold on to the pen when I was in the booth. I remember that morning, bright and early, lining up with my fellow Americans before the sunrise, coffee in hand, waiting for our chance to make a historic vote. I will admit, I didn't want to vote for Mr. Obama. I wanted to vote for Mrs. Clinton. But, being hysterical with my wandering uterus making real decisions for me, I picked his name instead of The Other White Meat.
Was I angry at Mr McCain for ruining my best friend's wedding at the Biltmore the week before? She paid beacoup bucks the year before for the reception to be on the front lawn at sunset, looking at Squaw Peak, and instead was displaced by his circus tent to a side garden. His concession speech crowd could be heard from my place. What a loser! Maybe I was angry that he picked a fiesty gal for running mate, a leather clad sexed up woman who was clearly getting laid more often than I was. Oh, or maybe just getting screwed. I get those two confused sometimes.
So, now I am really in a bind here because I can continue in my folly, letting my unfettered follicles make the most important decision of the next four years. Or, I can buckle down, take the pill, and lean hard toward the right. Mr Romney is handsome, no? And Mr Ryan should be my dream man. We are the same age, went to neighboring colleges, he's into working out and fitness, I am into health food, we both have libertarian leanings toward personal responsibility. His dad died when he was young, my dad died when I was young. I should want to bang on his lever, if our voting system had levers. My lucky lady parts should be so honored to have such a winning ticket.
I realize I can't ask my bits to make a decision in my best interest as a woman, because I am a woman and my best interests have nothing to do with my wants or needs. My best interests are clearly something I know way too little about. I can't be asked to make a completely hormone free decision, because when I am not ovulating, I am PMSing, and when I am not PMSing I am menstruating. All of those times render me brain dead. I think there is a window of three to four days in my cycle that allow me to make clear, rational, manlike decisions. Unfortunately, those three days do no fall on next Tuesday. I could have picked early, mail in balloting, but my stupid woman emotions are so attached to participating in the actual electoral process I didn't think it through. I will be forced to wait in line, get frustrated and worked up over snippy volunteers, and make another catastrophic decision for all personkind.
Men never make decisions with their testicles. It is a scientific fact that their penis is only one of two blood filled, spongy textured organs that may or may not be casting the deciding vote. Testosterone levels have never, ever, been known to be involved in the elections, campaigning, politics, business, economics, military or human rights, especially not reproductive control. We know that men do not have the balls to make a vote against their better judgment, the way that women's menstrual cycles determine whether or not children will get money for school and the elderly can expect to eat and get medical care in the same month. Nobody ever voted Republican because their hormones were raging man machines of buff and tuff stuff. No, they vote reasonably because they love everyone equally and want the best possible outcome for all. Everyday, because their mood never changes outside of sports seasons.
I realize now that the good people who did the research determining that my reasoning capacity was related to my estrus cycle and not my electoral cycle were just trying to do me a favor. They were trying to prevent me from the old "thinking with my vagina syndrome" that women are so famous for. I know it's totally selfish of me to want to equal pay for my work, so that I can go and blow it all on a spectacular vajazzle. It's completely unreasonable for me to want an equal opportunity to use my naught bits for sports and recreation, when women all around the world only get to use their's for childbirth and sex trafficking. And it must be totally unacceptable for me to think that my lady parts may want to visit with other lady parts, or many man parts, or my own parts, when the entire purpose of my existence is to fit around the end of a cock, and then clean the house.
Well, let me tell you, come tuesday, my hands will hope to pull off a happy ending. I will be voting for Mr. Obama. Women who vote their own self interest may lean liberal, may lean conservative, may lean all over the place. But the women who vote for Mr. Romney must have their head up their ass.