Opinion » Bill Cope

The Bishop's Wife

No way is Cope wagging a war on Ma Romney

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"Whatcha doin'?"

"Gee, Red. I was getting ready to sit down and write next week's column, and I'm so damn happy you showed up. I'm not sure how I'd manage if you weren't always dropping in unannounced, ripping a great big giant ass hole in my regular routine."

"Glad to help, Cope. So whatcha writing about for next week? Ah, wait a sec. Le'me guess. You'll be warblin' that same old Democratsic tune what says us Republicans are wagging a war on womens, right? Tell me I got it wrong."

"You got it wrong. Actually, I was going to do a thing about ALEC."

"Baldwin? Or Trebek?"

"Uh, neither. And I think maybe you have Alec Trebek confused with Alex Trebek."

"Yeah. Wull. Whatever. Anyway, you're saying you don't have no plans on how to do some verbal abusin' of poor Missus Romney? You know ... like ol' Hillary did? Or do you think it's OK for the Secretariat of the State to be running down stay-at-home mammas for not going out and getting a job?"

"Red, now I believe you have Hillary Clinton confused with Hilary Rosen. And no, I have no opinion about Ann Romney. Nor do I intend to get one. She seems a perfectly nice lady who chose to do exactly what I'm accustomed to hearing wives of her, uh ... persuasion ... so often do, and I have no plans to wade deeper into that subject than I already have."

"What you mean ... persuasion? Is that some kind of blond joke?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean, Red. You grew up around here, just like I did. And you know good and well that certain wives are perfectly content to stay home and plop out a mini-bus full of young 'uns. In fact, it's my understanding they are encouraged to do just that in the particular religious affiliation to which Mr. and Mrs. Romney belong. That's what I've heard, anyway. If you understand it differently, please tell me. You know how I am, Red. I'm always willing to admit I'm wrong about these matters. You know ... in the unlikely event it turns out I'm wrong."

"The only thing you said I agree with was about me knowing how you am. And I don't trust how you am, Cope. You's one sneaky buzzard. You're one of them people what are always talking about what you say you ain't gonna talk about. So if you say you ain't gonna talk about Missus Romney never having a job, that means you're really talking about her never having a job.

"No no no! You got me all wrong, Red. I have no interest whatsoever in whether she ever had a job. And besides, why on Earth would she ever need a job, anyway? It's not like she had to save loose change in a coffee can so she could pay the tuition on her sons' private school, huh? Or to get a new trannie put in one of her Cadillacs? And another thing ... how would she ever hold down a job in the first place, what with not knowing which of their mansions they're going to be living in from month to month? No sir, Red. I'd never even think about picking on poor Mom Romney for having no reason whatsoever to work a day in her life. After all, it's not her fault they're worth an estimated 250 million bucks, is it?"

"There you go! You said it! That she never had to work a day in her life. That's exactly what Hilary what's-'er-face said. It's you what's wagging a war on womens, Cope. You and all them Dem'crats what refuses to acknowsticate how hard a full-time mom works."

"Red, that's nonsense. I had a full-time mom myself. I saw every day how hard she worked. But there's a big difference between my mom and Ann Romney. My mom did her own cleaning. My mom did her own cooking. If my mom wanted a flower bed, she planted it and weeded it and watered it herself. If she wanted a room painted, she painted it herself. My guess is, the toughest thing Ann Romney does over the course of a day is to interview a new maid or tell a gardener what she wants done. My mom was the maid, the gardener, the cook and everything else. That's what most full-time moms are, and they don't think of themselves as 'home managers,' either. Honestly, Red, can you even imagine Ann Romney up to her elbows in a wad of raw meatloaf fixings? Or swabbing out a toilet?"

"Cope, for not wanting to talk about Missus Romney, you're sure saying a lot about 'er. That just gets my inner mamma grizzly's goat."

"Wow. You have an 'inner mamma grizzly?' If I toss a salmon patty in the air, can you catch it in your mouth?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Buddy, it's very commendable that you feel the need to defend poor Mrs. Romney. But you know, this stink was never about Democrats vs. stay-at-home wives. It's about people worth tons of money vs. everyone else. It's about the One Percenters, Red. And I suspect Ann Romney understands it better than that gas bubble she's married to."

"Gull durnit, Cope! Not ever'thing is about who's got all the money."

"It is for the ones who have all the money, pal and always has been. Everything else is either a means to keep it that way or a distraction from that reality. But listen, I want to hear more about this 'inner mamma grizzly' of yours. When you have to use the bathroom, do you ever feel like you should go do it in the woods?"

"Har har har, Cope. Fuuuuh-nee! Now whyn'tcha go back to writin' 'bout that Alec feller and leave me be."

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