Thou Shalt Not Date A Po­lit­i­cal Ad­ver­sary

Forward Magazine - - & -

It all started, as it so of­ten does for me, with the cutest dog I had ever seen. We were play­ing with the puppy in his fam­ily’s sprawl­ing up­town apart­ment, sip­ping some­thing ex­pen­sive that had been de­canted into a crys­tal bot­tle. Then we were kiss­ing in an arm­chair. Then he was lead­ing me to his bed­room. Then I was clos­ing the door. He was so smart. And he smelled like a Christ­mas tree. No — like a Hav­dalah spice box. He was Jewish, of course. Well ed­u­cated. Am­bi­tious.

Only later, when we were sand­wiched be­tween the high thread count sheets on his king-sized bed, did he ca­su­ally re­veal that, in the 2016 pres­i­den­tial elec­tion, he voted for Gary John­son. I con­sid­ered my op­tions.

There was the ob­vi­ous — set­ting fire to my­self and my sur­round­ings. Then the more paci­fistic re­sponse: wrap­ping my­self in a sheet, wad­ing slowly into the Cen­tral Park reser­voir while mum­bling the Mourner’s Kad­dish, and let­ting na­ture do its work. I opted for rolling to the edge of the bed, ig­nor­ing his in­creas­ingly fran­tic ex­pla­na­tions while weep­ily tex­ting my friends: “AC­CI­DEN­TALLY HOOKED UP WITH A JOHN­SON SUP­PORTER SEND HELP”

I know, I know — I’m just an­other snowflake. An­other lib­eral arts-in­fected, par­tic­i­pa­tion tro­phy-clutch­ing mem­ber of the elite, pro­vid­ing sex­ual plea­sure for a per­son who would rather wrest from me the rights to my own body than pay his fair share of taxes. To me, vot­ing for lib­er­tar­ian can­di­date

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