Last Wednesdays debate was traumatic for me. I knew things were going to go badly when Romney delivered his opening joke about Obama’s wedding anniversary fairly well with only one little stutter. The joke written for him was self-effacing and funny and I thought, “Oh crap”. As we all know, it turns out my initial feelings were correct. (When are they not?) The next day after I drove the kids to school I was so bereft I took to bed in a pink silk peignoir with my smelling salts and all the candy I could find and stared at the ceiling wondering what had gone wrong. How could Barack do this to me? I have given him the best years of my life. I have stood in the blazing sun extoling his virtues. I have endured countless jerks and crackpots threatening him and me. I stood by him when my husband fumed about his going after healthcare instead of the economy. Let’s face it; it is obvious I have been doing most of the work in this relationship. All HE had to do was show up and debate Mitt Romney! I was screaming at the television. “Look up!!” “That’s a lie! Call him on it!” “Barack! Wake up!” It was a nightmare and I couldn’t believe it was happening. There are no excuses.
It took the entire day for me to sufficiently recover and only then because I was forced to participate in this thing called “a family”. That night I was awakened by Sofie throwing up (not exactly in the toilet). By the time I had cleaned up and was able to return to my bed both Sofie and Addie were in it. When I crawled in Addie asked me why Sofie was in the bed and I told her she was sick. Addie leaned over Sofie to whisper what I thought was going to be words of comfort but what she said was, “Do not throw up on me.”
