It's not that Plame has dropped out of sight. In October, as Vanity Fair notes, she was at the National Press Club -- wearing a "sharp cream pantsuit" -- while her husband received a truth-telling award. Wilson wept from the podium, saying, "If I could give you back your anonymity . . ." and then introduced Plame, who also teared up.
Spare me the dramatics. Tearing up? And we're supposed to believe that someone with such delicate sensibilities is a hardened "secret" agent sent on dangerous missions? Puleeeze.
Plame also mingled unobtrusively last month at a party at the home of The Washington Post's Ben Bradlee and Sally Quinn. But there has been an invisible bubble around her as reporters have respected the desire of "Jane Bond," as Wilson calls her, to remain in the Washington shadows.
This only strengthens the contention of Robert Novak that he was given Wilson's name in passing and didn't think it was a big deal because she was hardly unknown in Washington circles. The way these two are milking this non-scandal is shameful. Enough with the martyr act, already.
I've interviewed Joe Wilson. He's a charming fellow, and tells great stories of his travels abroad, but his phony indignity over this flap is just too much to bear. Despite being presented with evidence that his wife's "outing" was not big deal (it was unintentional, she's not really a "spook," everyone in town knows her and her relationship with her husband, it is legitimate to wonder if Valerie recommended her husband for a mission for which he is not qualified), Joe sticks to the talking points, and the elite media eat it up.