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.”
