Yesterday the Washington Post published a story about Vice President Mike Pence and his relationship with his wife, Karen Pence. The big headline? He won't eat alone with women who aren't his wife and will not attend parties serving alcohol without her.
"In 2002, Mike Pence told the Hill that he never eats alone with a woman other than his wife and that he won’t attend events featuring alcohol without her by his side, either," the Post reported.
Cue the meltdown.
This, somehow, has been twisted as "extreme," with some on the left comparing his actions to Sharia Law.
In actuality Pence is smart and does a service not only to his wife, but to professional women working inside the Beltway.
His decision to err on the side of respect has certainly paid off.
Before becoming the governor Indiana in 2013, Mike Pence served as a U.S. Congressman for over a decade. With his wife by his side and a clean personal record, his career has taken him all the way to the White House.
Washington D.C. is often a sleazy, filthy town.
The stories you hear about smoky backrooms are true.
Go to any D.C. restaurant at happy hour and you'll see scores of married men surrounded by and engaged inappropriately with younger women who are not their wives.
This city is a place where a small, but vicious and significant population of men and women crave power.
They will stop at almost nothing to get it, which includes breaking up marriages.
There are 50,000 Ashley Madison accounts with a D.C. address, making the nation's capitol number four in the country for infidelity.
Right across the river and bordering D.C. is Arlington, Virginia, which comes in at number five.
In 2001 Vanity Fair published a piece called Meanwhile on Capitol Hill, detailing this behavior from women and their male enablers on Capitol Hill.
In the wake of the Clinton and Condit intern scandals, you’d think Washington men would be wary of chasing young women, even ones as charming and alluring as Diana. You’d be wrong.
The Capitol buildings ooze sexual tension. The excitement begins once you pass the security guards. The windowless white marble corridors are a labyrinth in which you are isolated from the outside world. A “bubble” is how Diana puts it.
In the corridors you can hear little pump heels tap-tapping for miles, so predators know when the prey is coming; suddenly a congressman swings out from his office, dressed and groomed like a James Bond villain, usually flanked by an assortment of aides, all clutching files with the congressional logos firmly facing out, to remind you you’re in the presence of power. The congressman stops and stares up, down. He takes his time.
“Hey,” he says in a soft drawl.
This happens again and again, even on the second floor of the Rayburn building, where Gary Condit’s office is located, a chair and a handful of media outside. But the office sits sepulchral and empty, its occupant has long since been moved to a secret location.
Diana gets checked out all the time. “It’s just blatant. They don’t make any effort about hiding it,” she says. “They’ll start out conversations in elevators in the morning: ‘How are you? Who do you work for? Oh, you’re new around here. What are you doing for lunch?’ It’s just very bizarre and very forward.”