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How Ron Paul Ended Up In My Pants

Yesterday I joined the Gloria Steinem/ Hillary Clinton pile-on, arguing that younger women like me didn't buy Steinem's argument that sisterhood naturally equals a vote for Hillary Clinton. Eve questions whether last night's results have changed my stance. I'm not backing down yet. There's an age skew in the exit polling (older and married women providing the bulk of Clinton's muscle) that suggests the sisterhood argument has a generational appeal. What last night really showed is that Clinton herself played the gender card brilliantly (see today's Maureen Dowd column).

But I'll concede I learned a chastening thing or two about identity politics last night. The least-respected identity to fess up to is not being black, or a woman, but a pregnant woman. In one pro-Steinem post, I was told it was a good thing I was "making babies now," my opinions presumably silenced by such worthless endeavors forever. (With feminist friends like these...) Another started off by calling me "honey." And finally, to add injury to insult, a mass email reached me this morning kindly warning me about the dangers of an episiotomy (look it up, teplukhin, it's not a Lamaze term) at the hands of Ron Paul.

--Katherine Marsh