Voting Virginity: Why I’m Popping my Poll Cherry

This week is big. I’ll be 44 on Friday and for the very first time in my life – I’m voting.

It’s okay to judge me. Even I judge me on this one. Not voting for twenty years? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you care? Just because I’ve never taken to the polls, doesn’t mean I didn’t give a shit.  I did. I just didn’t think my shit mattered.

In my 20s, I was a rebel without a clue. A stripper with a coke problem and an all-around rule-breaker. I somehow equated voting as giving in to the system, and everything about me was screaming of anarchy. All I cared about was the fast lane; blowing wads of cash, and living far off the grid. Besides, who would want to hear my opinions? The general vibe from society was that we (strippers) were scumbag prostitutes who didn’t pay taxes, cheated with husbands, and were worthless, airheads with no goals in life other than to find the next best deal in clear heels and Spandex. I was too busy partying to give a shit about proving them wrong.

I grew up in a middle class Republican home. But nothing in my young adult life seemed to fall on the right side, so I felt like a hypocrite, even thinking about voting from the Right, which was I was told to do as a child.

So I just didn’t vote.

As I grew into my 30s, I educated myself on the issues. I left the stripping life behind, and entered the corporate

Christine Macdonald