Continuing to maintain that her family’s tax returns are personal and not for sharing with just any Tom, Dick, or Harry, Ann Romney opened up about a miscarriage she suffered about 15 years ago.
“I woke up in the middle of the night and there was this big spot of blood on the sheets. I thought to myself, this perimenopausal stuff sure must be a nuisance for the maid. Then I remembered, I’m pregnant! This shouldn’t be happening to me!”
“I reached into my panties and felt around and sure enough, it was a mess down there. I was starting to feel very afraid. And the cramps were just terrible!”
“Uh…Mrs. Romney, wouldn’t it be easier to talk about Mitt’s and your income taxes? I mean…what could be more personal than the gory details of your miscarriage?”
“No gordita, I want American women to understand. I am one of them. I know what it is like to be a woman. To have disappointments.”
“You refer to the disappointment of not being able to give birth to a sixth child?”
“Yes, gordita. My family and I were heartbroken. I should say we are heartbroken. We never fully recovered.”
“Mrs. Romney, the thought of giving birth six times makes me want to ignite my uterus with a blow torch.”
“I really don’t expect a loose…er…liberal woman like you to understand the depth of our sorrow. A miscarriage is a tragedy.”
“Actually, I am not heartless, Mrs. Romney. I can understand carrying a baby and loving it and wanting it to be healthy. You must have been pretty far along for this baby to have affected your family so much.”
“Yes, I was. Three weeks.”
“Three weeks! Geez, Mrs. Romney, this baby didn’t even have gills yet! It was 1/12 of an inch long and looked like this”:
“Gordita, a three-week-old baby is a human life. It is sacred and precious. A gift from heaven.”
“A gift that keeps on giving, apparently, because you are now using this human life to further your husband’s political aspirations–which I might add are focused on depriving pregnant women of prenatal care guaranteed to them by Obamacare.”
“I don’t appreciate your sacrilegious snippinesss, gordita. This interview is over.”
<<<Ann Romney stands up and starts to walk out>>>
“Is there any chance that your decision to put your uterus on public display will inspire your husband to share his tax returns?” I ask as Mrs. Romney reaches the door.
“Gordita, you people and your insatiable appetite for the private details of other peoples’ lives disgust me.”
“I take that as a no?”
The door closes behind Mrs. Romney and the studio goes silent. I feel so little connection to Mrs. Romney and her ilk, I am tempted to request a species reassignment. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to fly?