Since the first time I typed the word "Hillary" next to the word "Clinton" in a column, my inbox and Twitter feed have been filled with queries as to why I'm not writing about her husband's White House exploits. I would quote a few of the missives, but they're never printable.
When I answer — and occasionally I do — I say something along the lines of, "Because it's not 1998, and because Bill isn't running for president."
Both are true, but they're not enough. So here goes:
I'm furious with Bill Clinton, if you want to know the truth.
I'm furious that his late-1990s affair with Monica Lewinsky, which already sucked up close to $40 million and an inordinate amount of our attention, is the first thing some people think of when they see his wife — an ardent champion of women and children's rights since the '80s, a two-term U.S. senator, a secretary of state and the first woman to be nominated for president by one of the two major parties.
I'm furious that his infidelity and reputation for womanizing have given cover for people trying to explain away Donald Trump's highly offensive, dangerous talk of forcing himself on women.
I'm furious that Trump himself had Bill Clinton's name at the ready when he released his first response to the "Access Hollywood" tape Friday.
I'm furious, as a feminist, that I find myself wondering how to explain Clinton's behavior — behavior I abhor — because I like his wife and I want her to be our next president. In some ways, their marriage is theirs to work through. But, let's be honest, it's also not.