Dear Ann Romney,
I saw your speech the other night. Thanks for talking to me from the heart, because you pretty much confirmed what I already knew to be true, which is that you’re the type of lady with hand sanitizer coursing through her veins.
I’ve known wealthy, astringent women like you all my life. I grew up around them. Not with them. Around them.
My mother always looked up to women like you. She respects you, and she wants to be more like you. Like the Oscar de la Renta you wore for the speech, you are an aspirational brand for women like my mom. That’s fine. I understand why she thinks that way, and, like Laura Bush before you, my mom is entitled to her heroes.
That’s not to say I don’t respect you. I certainly do. I know how hard it is to maintain that level of poise, and I’m familiar with the pathological dedication it takes to keep up appearances. Women like you are a special breed, and like all your fancy prancing horses, I know how incredibly difficult it is to make it look so easy. (By the way, can we just take a moment and savor the delicious irony of a politician’s wife who competes in dressage? Mmm. That’s some Tom Wolfe-level stuff, right there.)
For the record, I’m not going to vote for your husband. Don’t worry, though. My mother definitely will, and if your husband happens to win, I have no doubt that you’d make an excellent First Lady. You were born for that kind of thing. You’d rock the East Wing Jackie style with a Republican twist, and I’m sure you’d pick one helluva china pattern.
Whichever way it goes in November, you’re destined to continue living a fine life filled with philanthropy and politics. You’ll always be important to some circle, and I’m happy for you. Speaking for the rest of us, though — and this is coming from my heart — stop using your money and influence to chip away at women’s reproductive rights.
That great collective sigh you’re hearing from the women whom you profess to “love” so much isn’t because we had a rough day. It’s because we don’t appreciate the hypocrisy of someone like you kissing our asses on national television while quietly working against us.
Please feel free to do whatever you like with the window dressing, but don’t spend another second advocating against a woman’s choice. At a certain point, that kind of thing is really unforgivable.
Yours in a red dress,
(Read my Unsolicited Advice column weekends in The Daily.)