There are a few things in life at which I particularly excel. I spell like a wizard. I can eat a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts over the course of a commercial break. I have a vast knowledge of useless, random trivia. Horses can’t throw up. You may not enjoy this blog post, but, hey, at least you learned something. Anyway. I’m good at a few things. Staying silent about things that matter (or really anything in general ever) isn’t one of them.
A woman was just given the nomination for president of a major political party. For the first time in history, a woman has a real shot at holding the most important office in the world. That’s right, people. A chick in The White House. Not in the kitchen making a sandwich. Not vacuuming the Oval Office. She’ll be sitting behind that goddamn desk like the Y-chromosome-less badass she is.
Now, listen. I get it. Some of you aren’t big HC fans. In fact, some of you even favor the opposing candidate. I won’t go into a spiel about the ungodly toxic, dangerous consequences of that “favor.” Nor will I qualify my strong position as to why Hill is by far and large the most qualified baller to rectify this shitshow we have brewing. Primarily because it’s fruitless to argue with Trump supporters, but also because I’m an unbelievably talented arguer. I would win, you kids would lose, and wouldn’t that just bum your trip?
Hill took down Bin Laden. There. I’m done.
But let’s get back to the important shit. We have a woman running for office this November. For those of us on Team HRC, this is surreal on multiple levels. For those who aren’t so in love, I understand why you aren’t voting for her. I think that’s stupid, sure. But as a feminist and, you know, a logical person, I think candidates should be judged solely on their politics, not by their genders.
Women, I don’t expect you to vote for Hillary because she’s a chick. But I do expect you to be proud. I expect you to be damn proud. Maybe not of Democrats. Maybe not even of Hillary herself. But I expect you to be proud of the fact that she’s up there. I expect you to be proud of the fact that for the first time since 1776, one of us is up there.
For nearly 300 years, we’ve been represented by someone who cannot possibly understand what it’s like to live our lives. He was birthed by one of us. He may love one of us. He may father one of us. But he will never be one of us.
My grandmother wasn’t allowed to play sports because she was a woman. My mother was paid less in every job she ever held. I was told I wasn’t “the kind of girl” to get into a good college. To get into business. To get into politics. To be taken seriously at all.
My 11-year-old cousin? In her short, wonderful life, the world she’s known has been one with a black president. And now, a woman nominee. A chance.
A chance for little girls to turn on the TV and see one of us up there.
A chance for a woman to be the President of the United States.
There’s a lot of shit going on right now. None of us can deny that. There’s a lot of shit going on. But this? This is pretty damn beautiful.