Pro-Abortion

Imagine it: You're thirty weeks pregnant. Rubbing your swollen belly, you think of baby names as you walk towards the maternity clinic. If it's a boy, you can name it Doug, after your favorite uncle; if it's a girl, you can name it Ricki, after your favorite talk show host. Your family has already planned a surprise baby shower. You're just heading over to see your ob/gyn to get the latest ultrasound picture to put in an album to show your child one day.

But oh no! Protesters surround the clinic, holding up signs that say things like "Kill your fetus!" and "Pregnancy is wrong!" They ambush you as you try to get through the door to see your doctor. One of them hands you a pamphlet that reads:

You have choices. Come to our abortion palace and we'll take that fetus right out of you so you can continue fucking strangers and having fun!!!!!

So far, a pretty normal maternity clinic experience; you think nothing of it. These people are a hassle, but they can't hurt you.

Until one of them comes at you with a baseball bat. "Beat it out of her!" someone screams. You run to the safety of the clinic waiting room, where they can't touch you.

Two weeks later, police come to your door. "I'm sorry, ma'am, you're going to have to come with us."

"Why?" you ask.

"According to our sources, you're thirty-two weeks pregnant. That is a criminal act."

"Criminal?" You are shocked.

"Yes, criminal. Congress just passed a law outlawing pregnancy."

That is what pro-abortion is, you fucking right-wing morons. What I am is pro-choice.

They'll Come After My Kids

My mother's fear of single people is not unlike the religious right's fear of homosexuals, as in, if we start accepting their "choices," my children will start thinking this lifestyle is normal. To prevent us from dying unmarried, she always makes sure to point out the deviants: "My friend Nora - who is single, by the way - was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize - you know, she's had boyfriends, she just never marries them, isn't that odd? - and she won, the first American woman ever - and you know, she's forty years old..."

Mom's views on relationships came up recently, when my parents were planning a family vacation. Family, in this case, means me, my parents, my 18-year-old brother, and my 20-year-old sister. And apparently, my sister's boyfriend. I took issue with the idea of him accompanying my family on a vacation. The conversation went like this:

Mom: I invited Dorian to go on vacation with us.

Me: Why?

Mom: Well, he's your sister's friend...

Me: He's not family.

Mom: Why do you want to go on this vacation so badly? Are you trying to break up with your boyfriend without telling him?

Note: My mother has met my boyfriend once, for a matter of thirty seconds; when this conversation took place, she had never met him. For all she knows, he could be an escaped convict or a cult leader or a drug addict. Yet my relationship with him matters to her. It matters deeply.

The fact of the matter is, in this uncertain world, you can't sit back and watch your twenties creep by. You have to take a man, any semi-compatible man, and commit to being with him for the rest of your life. Take note. Don't follow my example. Follow my mother's. By the time she was my age, she'd been married and divorced.