Channeling yet another 1950s plot, Maureen Dowd once again forgot the century in which she awoke. Flying into another one of her fantasy fits, Ms. Dowd quickly jumped into her June Cleaver alter ego to deliver herself inside the favorite marriage of her carnal fixation, shrugging off the actual news she’s paid to cover and that two lives were saved from serving hard labor, something Dowd equates in her little Leave It to Beaver mind as simply another name for tea time at the Times.
Maybe it was some clever North Korean revenge plot, giving the limelight to Daddy to punish Mommy. Just as Hillary muscled her way back into the spotlight, moving past her broken elbow and grabbing the focus from her bevy of peacock envoys, she was blown off the radar screen again by an even more powerful envoy: the one she lives with.
It was a moment unique in the annals of diplomacy. Bill was being hailed as a dazzling statesman who might have changed the stormy weather between the U.S. and North Korea, just as Hillary was beginning an 11-day trip to Africa designed to highlight the subjects she most cares about: do-gooder development and women’s issues.
The one in charge of world affairs disappeared from the news all day on Tuesday. The one out of office dominated the news. His plane is rolling down the runway in Pyongyang with the two pardoned women on board? Zowie!
Ah yes, obviously not able to get her pearls untied from last century, Dowd chokes out a witticism, spinning it out of a libidinous imagination that’s never fulfilled until she weaves Bill into her latest romance fantasy. Because it’s the only way she can have her way with the former president, though it’s surprising her bosses haven’t noticed her obsessive penchant for political porn. Oh right, sex sells.
Only in Dowd’s June Cleaver world would you diminish the woman at work traveling the globe, while simultaneously making Gidget sounds about the man who just rescued two journalists from a North Korean prison. No doubt her heart skipping a beat at being cast as one of them. Sure her June Cleaver character could make the grade with one casting call moment on the couch.
Because seriously, the only way you could be so preoccupied with someone else’s husband is if you secretly play Wilma Mitty in your mind, jumping into the working wife’s place the minute she is out of sight.
But that’s Maureen Dowd’s world. Where Bill Clinton fantasies are spun into columns without anyone catching on that she’s actually a literary stalker.
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