The XX Factor: Slate women blog about politics, etc...

That Hurts My Feelings!

Sunday was the Feast of the Epiphany, but the homilist hadn't had one while preparing his sermon—it happens, even to Jesuits—so I drifted back to the epiphanies of the previous evening's presidential debates while he struggled to connect the dots between Fra Angelico's Adoration of the Magi and children growing up now in the Darfur. (Sorry, Father, but isn't calling them "at risk'' sort of like calling Santa a not-altogether-unpleasant figure?) Or calling Mitt Romney a tad unprepared for the full-body thumpin' he got from John McCain on Saturday night? My politically incorrect husband thought Gov. Haircut could not have looked any more stunned if McCain had sneaked up and given him a wedgie in his special underwear.

It was John Edwards' night from where I was sitting—even Barack Obama was no Barack Obama—but the most intriguing moment came when Hillary Clinton convincingly mocked the notion that if some people found her unlikable, then she guessed she'd just go home and cry her poor little eyes out. As someone who would rather hide in her basement than go out and risk getting her tender baby feelings hurt, this got my attention: Clinton really seemed beyond caring, and though I've never been sure she was my brand of vodka, that is an accomplishment worth toasting.

Of all the reasons there aren't more women running for political office, fear of being disliked and rejected has got to be high on the list. Supposedly, the desire to please—and the dread of failing to do so—is drummed into us by the culture, but I have seen it more in my daughter than in her twin brother from the get-go. This year, in their first or second week at their vast new middle school, my son announced that he wanted to run for student government, an idea that his panicked sister tried to talk him out of: "But, you don't know anyone! You'll lose!'' (His response: And?)

On Election Day, I was a nervous wreck, and had chocolate-chip cookies at the ready in case he fell short and came home hurting. But when 3 o'clock rolled around at last, he ran in laughing and proud that he'd ... only narrowly lost? Wahoo, he said: He'd met a lot of kids, gotten a lot of good feedback on his Go Green platform, and figured he was well positioned for the next campaign. His sister and I were agog—as I was last night, watching one strong woman laugh at the news that she had not been named Miss Congeniality. And if that's what Hillary's time in the old boys' club taught her, then sister, I am finally all ears.