Thou Shalt Not Date A Political Adversary
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