Contrary to the newspaper heading, the
(There must be all manner of social interfaces during which we could utilize the word “quashed”, with a certain zesty delight, yet we fail to avail ourselves of such.)
In case anyone was wondering why Hanson is so desperate about reaching the Big Apple for the holiday season, instead of staying in her beloved homeland – that same frothing homeland of which she is determined to save from Asians, Muslims and disease riddled Africans – this is why:
"I want to enjoy that real Christmas feeling. You don't really get it in
Onya Pauline, that’ll fetch a lot of votes if you run in the next election.
On the other hand, Hanson has said she might not make a comeback if “a wonderful man could come and take me away from all this."
Please, someone find her a man – now!
Can't fault her solid logic though: err, what will I do today (a) find a boyfriend; or (b) run for parliament. See, these are the types of challenging decisions modern women have to make every morning.
Meanwhile, our other favorite redhead is suddenly being photographed with her boyfriend everywhere she goes, which is very peculiar, as I don’t ever recall seeing a photo of Gillard with any of her personal male escorts before. Is this an all too obvious PR exercise to convince the electorate that Gillard is not some raving-feminist-lesbian, despite being the owner of an unused uterous? Future boyfriends beware: you will be expected to become camera candy.
Regardless of the joyous pictures of Gillard and her hairdresser boyfriend, she insist that she will resist social pressures to make an honest man of him, even if she becomes deputy prime minister next year. I’m still scratching my well-groomed head over that one. Since when did any of us have expectations of our pollies and leaders celebrating electoral victory by getting married? It's generally prostate wrenching enough that they insist on dancing like giddy teenagers on election nights - that sight alone sends most of us into therapy until the next election.
Far more alarming, at least momentarily, was Gillard’s revelation that she had no plans to have children – already being well settled and comfy in her personal life and all.
Alarming? Yes, indeed.
I find it alarming that a 45 year old woman makes passing comments about not having plans to give birth any time soon, as if, on this planet, and in this galaxy, that possibility is both plausible and probable.
Hell, the woman is right around my age, and I’ve been a happy little grandmother to The Golden Child for nigh on 23 months now.
So, to journo’s across the country: if you must go the usual boring and demeaning path of personal questioning with Gillard, for gawd’s sake, at least be sensible and ask her what plans she has for menopause, or whether, in the light of public opinion, she’s going to change hairdressers. Please, please don’t keep carrying on like a bunch of drongos, as if a woman her age still has a whole bunch of happy healthy and willing eggs in her basket. It’s dumb, really it is.
(Now, should I start taking bets on when the first journo will ask Gillard about the possibility of an overseas adoption?)