Say it aint so, Colonel Sanders!
I was born a democrat. I don't think I ever consciously met a republican until I was about 12. They didn't exist in my family. Growing up in New York City, my family lived the urban legend attributed to Pauline Kael: that she didn't know how Nixon had won the election, she didn't know anyone who voted for him.
Now I'm married to a republican. And I have found that I might come close to being called a neo-conservative. I prefer to call myself a moderate. Which brings me, in a round about way to fried chicken.
Apparently the Democratic National Convention has banned friend foods. Now I'm as aware as the next person of the evils of fried food. I do try to limit my intake of them, and attribute my recent hard-won weight loss in part to cutting out friend foods. But that's my personal choice. Hear that DNC, my personal choice. Choice, as in Pro-Choice. Choice as in I have the option of eating fried foods but choose not to.
I know very well that the Convention is not the government. It's not a governmental event. But I'm not very proud to belong to a party that sees itself as having the right to dictate what upteen thousands of delegates and members of the press can eat.
Encourage me to eat well, make it easy for me to eat well, or if you must, lay a guilt trip on me if I don't eat well. But don't take away my choices!
Say it aint so, Colonel Sanders, say it aint so.
