If Todd Akin wins the election, my uterus is going to get on a plane, fly to Missouri, and stage a sit-in at his home. Then she’s going to take the campaign nationwide. She’ll galvanize other uteruses all over the country, and later, the world. The campaign slogan: Vote with your uterus!
The word uterus isn’t pretty or cuddly. It doesn’t even rhyme with anything. Womb is a lot warmer, and cozier. Most people like the idea of a womb, and wouldn’t mind having that kind of protection now and then. I know I’d like to have a womb to crawl into when I really, really needed it.
A uterus is neither warm nor fuzzy. Nobody wants to sing about, hug or kiss a uterus, take one out on a date, or give it a job. That’s probably why no uterus has ever held political office, though the uterus, because of her above average intelligence, would be at a distinct advantage over certain members of congress, and certain candidates for high office.
When I was growing up, nobody ever thought about discussing a uterus. It was one of those things never mentioned in polite company or even in impolite company, where one might hear various euphemisms for the word, penis, which was also never mentioned. In fact, I don’t recall ever engaging in a discussion about a uterus until the Republicans began to contrive to enslave them.
Suddenly, the uterus became the next big threat to the political right. They began poking around in our uteruses, or at least passing laws that required their actual invasion in order to deter women from abortion. Nobody likes abortion, it’s true, but then again, nobody likes rape or incest either, or abject poverty, hopelessness, and despair, but sometimes, despite our best efforts and intentions, bad things happen.
Don’t take away the last line of defense for one of our sisters. Vote with your uterus.