…Mostly because right now danger’s name is Elva. She’s really nice and we’re both wearing equipment. Yes, it’s the next phase in my karate journey, my friends, and they call it sparring: a fancy name for a form of fighting. Elva flashes her hand, I punch it. That kind of thing. I put this off for as long as possible, mind. I didn’t sign up for karate because I actually wanted to do anyone damage. I like the grace and strength of it all, actually. But apparently sans sparring I can’t advance in karate, so once a week I put on a spongy red helmet, and gloves, and shoes that say Ring Star.
I can assure you I am not—a Ring Star, that is. I am waiting for the moment when I deliver a strong upper cut and knock myself out. This, I have learned in kickboxing class, is a distinct possibility. Kickboxing, unlike sparring, is not mandatory. However, it is good exercise and involves looking tough while I punch into the air to a remix version of Billy Jean, Not My Lover by Michael Jackson. Then we switch things up, delivering very fierce roundhouse kicks, also into the air. I wouldn’t mess with some of the women in that class. By the time the remix of Gimme, Gimme, Gimme a Man after Midnight (Abba)—I love 80s remix classes—comes on we are on to a series of very intimidating hook, jab, punch combos.
I am not a fighter. But given that I run a pro-life blog, I really should be. I imagine myself as a kind of Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby, but instead of crying out for death, after the critical knockout has been delivered I would cry out for life, and then write my memoirs. (There will be no euthanasia here. I don’t have a will, so I’d appreciate it if someone would print this post out for any critical moments I hope don’t come.) Anyhoo, I imagine I am like Hilary Swank. Then I see myself in the mirrors, and I am very much brought back to the reality that I am–not.
In any event, I think there is a takeaway for any pro-life spokeswoman. Aren’t most journalists boozing softies? Next time I get a hostile question I’ll clamber over the security of the desk and put my newfound skills to good use, ending with a Victory Pose and flashing a quick smile into the camera followed by an even quicker exit. I will lose my day job, but at least I’ll go out with a bang, and be very, very famous on YouTube.
Karate. Enroll your sons and daughters, I say, because in this politically correct age, man to man combat may be the only remaining avenue of cultural coercion. We’ll want to be ready. (I am filing this post into the new “Andrea is losing it” category.)
Brigitte is loving it: I always say orange belts are the most dangerous people in a dojo. Getting much stronger, but not quite at the point where they control everything the way they will later on. But yes, I agree. Being able to defend oneself is very much pro-life.by