Conservative Girls


I recognize them, those women on the Conservative bench. They are the girls of the fifties brought forward. I knew them well. In the part of the world I come from they would stook a field of barley and never have an opinion of their own. They would cook for a dozen threshers, milk a few cows, put on their high heels and red lipstick, straighten their seams and go out and giggle all evening.

They are not the Flora MacDonalds, the Gro Bruntlands, the Mary MacCarthys, the Louise Arbours of this world; authentic, compassionate, caring about everyone. They are the Nancy Reagans. They are the handmaidens, the groupies, the fan club, the camp followers, the stand by your man, or maybe by his right not to register his guns, kinda gals.


Grandma Sounds off



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