SOME PEOPLE seem to think that I actually matter. They message me in response to a particular column with either angry criticism or "atta girl!" euphoria, assuming that whatever I've written will have some impact on other readers. I am often amused by these emails, because the truth of the matter is that I can't even cajole my 7-year-old nephew to stop sticking french fries in the dog's nostrils. Clearly, my persuasive heft isn't all that hefty.
I VOWED that I would never vote for Donald Trump. I have written, at last count, seven columns explaining why he repulses me. That is still true; his being and character necessitate spiritual Dramamine. He is, to put it simply, the human equivalent of mayonnaise, the single most disgusting substance I have encountered in my 54 years on Earth.
HERE ARE SOME of the things you are not supposed to compare abortion to: Slavery. That's because slaves were human, and, even though the law treated them as property, the truth of their separate and sacred identity was obvious to the naked and uncompromised eye.
A COUPLE OF weeks ago, I wrote about the child who fell into the gorilla exhibit at the Cincinnati Zoo. I said the mother was to blame, because she should have been watching the child at all times. The repercussions from that article were momentous: I los
I HAVE BEEN TOLD by otherwise intelligent, alert, accomplished women that I must vote for Hillary Clinton. Some have said it's because failing to cast my vote for Bill's charming better half will be a de facto "plus one" for Team Trump. While I doubt that is the case, and polls seem to bear me out, it's a fairly respectable argument: Hillary minus me minus many other women equals Donald.
ABOUT 20 YEARS ago, when I was teaching French at a girls' high school in Malvern, I was picked to chaperone 40 of my students on a class trip to Paris. Having lived in Paris a decade earlier, I knew the city fairly well and was excited to get back to the sidewalk cafes, the museums, the Left Bank, and the sugar crepes that continued to fill my dreams, if not my stomach.
I ALWAYS considered myself to be Trans Gender. No, it has nothing to do with bathrooms. My biological apparatus matches both my birth certificate and sense of reality. What I mean is that I've always looked at things from an essentially gender-neutral per
LIKE MOST Catholic-schooled girls who grew up in the 1970s, I learned about sex (including where it was done, how it was done, to whom it was done and if, in fact, it was done) by reading several dog-eared Jacqueline Susann novels. My favorite was "V
I ONCE STARTED touring the Pennsylvania wearing a crown, going from diner to gas station to 4-H festival to church breakfast, announcing myself as Miss Pennsylvania and perfecting my half-smile and perky wave. I did this because, even though I never participated in the pageant and, in fact, never had a date in high school, I wanted some badly needed momentum in my love life. I figured that if I acted as if I'd won a beauty contest, I'd eventually meet a nice doctor. Or something.
I REGISTERED as a Democrat in 1980, shortly after I turned 18. I was fairly apolitical, and picked that party because I (wrongly) assumed that most of my relatives were registered with the party of JFK. We were Catholics, after all, mostly working class a
THERE IS NO WAY to avoid sounding like a Donald Trump supporter with this column. I've already been accused of going over to the dark side by defending The Donald against accusations that he wanted to imprison women who had abortions, and that he cheered
IT'S NO SECRET I detest Donald Trump. I don't particularly hate the man, because it takes too much energy and effort to become enraged at people I don't know personally and will likely never meet, when more than enough humans are in my immediate orbit who fit the bill. He isn't evil, he isn't Hitler, he isn't the Angel of Death.
See Christine Flowers on Channel 6's "Inside Story" Sunday at 11:30 a.m.