So, I’m working the DFL booth at the fair. Anyone who has done this kind of thing before knows you spend a lot of time just sitting there, trying to look open and inviting and friendly, and you end up staring across the aisle at the booths on the other side. The two directly across from me were these:
This is one of those rinky-tink pseudo-Planned Parenthood outfits that provide some prenatal care (which is commendable), but really exists for their primary function: scaring people out of abortions. While I like adorable babies as much as anyone, I consider these kinds of organizations fundamentally dishonest, and clearly not actually as interested in the welfare of the woman as they are her transient zygotic payload.
Crystals and angels. Enough said. Enough, I said. Don’t make me relive it.
Most of you readers know me well enough. Was this a horrible form of torture, or what? Every time I looked up, I could let my eyes fall on the religious blastula worshippers, or the woo-woo crystal healers with the cherubim. It was like a standing dilemma: which one was crazier, more remote from reality, and more representative/more damaging to the local culture? The Mystics were probably more likely to vote for the DFL, and I also couldn’t decide whether I should consider that a good thing or a bad thing.
Don’t worry, I was well behaved and didn’t confront either of them. Revulsion trounced temptation.