I was contemplating the joyous simplicity of writing a column about Mayor Bloomberg’s delightfully dim-witted plan to ban big Cokes in the Big Apple when something far more troubling occurred that made me rethink my plans.

Namely, the House tried and failed to pass a bill that made it a crime to perform an abortion simply because the baby in question was the “wrong” gender.

I kept thinking about how much fun it would be to write about Mayor Bloomberg acting like Sacha Baron Cohen’s doofus dictator Admiral General Aladeen shooting at random New Yorkers sipping their evil Slurpees in an effort to make the city safe for Coney Island hot dogs, Ray’s Original Famous Pizza (any of the competing “original” locations would do), and of course the urban delicacy known as steak tartare (raw egg served over raw ground beef).

But despite enjoying a good gag as much as the next person (and apparently Mayor Bloomberg) my mind kept returning to those innocent victims of sex-selection abortion, and why Congress would not be willing to take steps to protect them.

Was I missing something? Hadn’t the whole world been horrified by China’s “one child” policy that had led to hundreds of millions of children, mostly little girls, being aborted? Didn’t everyone everywhere, even the most rigidly doctrinaire feminist, agree that abortion should be the option of last choice — that in the words of the Clintons, it should be “safe, legal and rare”? How rare would it be if people could play gender roulette? With XY you live... with XX you die.

Too horrible to think about... Too Machiavellian to even be considered an acceptable possibility for a parent. So my mind rebelled against the notion that I could even be living in a society that might not care enough about life to protect a little girl or a little boy from being eviscerated not just because they are inconvenient, or because they are too much responsibility, but simply because of who they are — because of their God-given genetic code, because they lost the gender gamble.

I told myself that abortion was too controversial to write about, that I had enough enemies already, and that a good laughfest about Mayor Bloomberg dressed up in a frilly lace apron and handing out appropriately portioned servings of skim milk and sugar-free pasta smoothies at a lunch counter named Aunty Nanny’s Low-Cal High-Carb Good-to-Go Potions was just too much to pass up.

Yes, that was the ticket. It was time to write the easy column.

But I couldn’t stop wondering why it wasn’t easy to just say no to gendercide. I kept remembering those feminist protests I had seen in years past with their signs like “Stand Up for Women’s Health,” and I thought what’s so healthy about abortion? I saw a sign that said, “Family Planning Saves Lives Worldwide” and I asked myself how many babies do you have to kill to save a life? I saw another sign that said Feminist Majority Foundation, and I thought, “Not for long — not if you keep saying it’s OK to abort little girls just because you feel like it.”

So yeah, I decided to write a column about Mayor Bloomberg declaring war on obesity by taking away our choice of how big a soda to drink because, frankly, it would be too hard to write a column about how Americans thought they needed to protect their choice of whether to let a baby live or die based on its gender.

I don’t even know how I would write about that.