Kathleen Gilbert


Planned Parenthood eats mor chikin too? Well, sort of.

Kathleen Gilbert

From supporting the redefinition of marriage, to spearheading universal free birth control, to pushing “sexual rights” for 10-year-olds, Planned Parenthood’s position in the culture wars is pretty unambiguous: if it involves sex, it doesn’t matter how risky or immoral it is—gosh darn it, that’s your right. (And our money supply.)

So when I came out of the Ballston Common Mall in Arlington. Va. yesterday evening, toting a hot steamy plate of fresh Chick-Fil-A strips, I pitied the Planned Parenthood canvassers I found outside; likely, I thought, they had been drowning in an endless stream of conservatives all day, with nary a soul to sign up to support their fundraiser. What’s more, they couldn’t give in to the lure of golden, deep-fried poultry as it wafted continually by.

Although canvassers are not always true believers, being often in a temporary contract with Big Abortion, I usually stop to strike up a conversation anyway. The one I met was unusually assertive: she told me that she too was “pro-life,” but she was also a Christian and “pro-choice,” because “God gave me the gift of choice and ain’t nobody going to tell me what to do with it.” Well, I said, free choice is a wonderful thing - although I wasn’t convinced that meant choosing to murder babies is a good idea. But anyway.

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She, knowing the method of the day’s Chick-Fil-A madness, then commented about my purchase with a derogatory wave of her hand. (I, who almost never eat sugar, was at the time holding two obnoxiously sweet-looking milkshakes, peach and chocolate - whipped cream and cherry on top and all. If ever I was to temporarily destroy my health, I figured, I would do it for a good cause. No holds barred.)

“You’re right, it’s pretty unhealthy, isn’t it?” I said with a shrug. “Just taking one for the team I guess.” Then something strange happened. Without skipping a beat, not four seconds after deriding my sodium and sugar-laden treasure, she asked, “Can I have some?”

“Why, sure! Here, have some sauce, too.” I waved the other canvasser over to join in, and they both loaded up. Quite a few pieces too.

As they navigated their new chickeny bliss, I thought to myself: you take my chicken, you get to listen to me proselytize one more time. “Free choice is a beautiful gift,” I said as I walked away. “Just choose life. Don’t choose murder. Choose life.” I doubt they were paying attention. But who knows - perhaps the God of Chick-Fil-A accepts chicken strips as a sacramental form of prayer for these two women.

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