Somewhere out there, in what Winston Churchill once called “the Great Republic” is the not-too-happy wife of a Republican governor or senator.
This poor lass has devoted the last two or three decades of her life to the gruesome indignities of American politics, shaking hands with morons, forfeiting all privacy, wearing a fixed grin, warily eyeing the bouncy blondes on her husband’s campaign staff and trying to retain her girlish figure through the endless parade of bull roasts, picnics, fundraising banquets and state fairs.
(“Try the deep-fried Twinkies ma’am?”)
She has done this all with one thought in mind. Someday, she will be first lady. And it would all be worth it. One day, and it could be soon, given President Obama’s troubles, she will have her choice of designer fashions. Be held up to the world as the epitome of American womanhood. Pick a personal cause to champion. Have a staff of hundreds of flattering aides. Wreak vengeance on her enemies. Host state dinners, with real movie stars, and make all those marvelous, exciting trips abroad, in luxurious style befitting a first lady, to exotic locales…
I can hear her now. “What are those idiots on Fox, and the Tea Party dumb nuts doing? One lousy European trip--to Spain in August, no less--with her daughter, and the right wing is portraying Michelle Obama as Marie Antoinette? Don’t they know the price she has paid? The loss of liberty, spontaneity and authenticity? The toll on her soul? What woman would ever pay the cost to be first lady, without the perks? What candidate’s wife would let her husband run for president, if the payoff is clothes from Land’s End, gun shows, and fried pork sandwiches at the Iowa state fair? Honey, no way am I doing this.”
If they are smart, the Republican wives will band together; sign a pact, and get the word out to the conservative media. Lay off Michelle, or the only Republican candidate you’ll have in 2012 will be divorced. Or Todd.