Don't you love how letting your mind wander at 2AM can resolve hitherto unarticulated aversions?
Crewcut sporting lesbians, invariably standing on courthouse steps dressed in pantsuits, have been a fixture of gay-marriage debate for as long as I can remember. I concede that they have a vested interest in the struggle, as a biological clock (the main impetus for seeking "equality") seems to not discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. To each her own.
My repulsion by the side-show comedy that is the same-sex-marriage debate was caused by something more sinister than the "morally-bankrupt heterosexual institution" tripe. And thanks to Florence King, I finally have figured out how I feel.
I might as well have said, "I don't want to get married, I'd rather live in Paris and have affairs like George Sand."