But I Don’t Care About the Wives of Presidential Candidates.
It was boring enough, three years ago, “getting to know” Michelle Obama, and the two kids. I would go into a coma every time she was interviewed and revealed little quirky, funny, endearing details of their life together and what a great guy he is. John McCain’s wife was even less appealing, though her hair-helmet made me giggle almost as much as Michelle’s persistently bare arms. The thing is. I’m not voting for the wife, the kids, the candidates ability to fry an egg or bravely eat heart-attack-inducing food at a state fair. Couldn’t care less about their courtin’ days, the proposal, the romantic fellow under the suit, and the ever-changing stances of this or that issue. (“He really cares, really. Really.”)
Now I have to get to know Anne Romney and she has to let us in on the “real Mitt.” The other a.m. I was flabbergasted to see Romney flipping pancakes. Who the fuck cares? And—please forgive me—I don’t care about Anne Romney’s MS, either. Too bad but join the millions of other who have the disease but don’t have millions to treat it. Go on “Chopped” and give a sob story on the hope of winning something.
Why do we have to be convinced the president is a “nice guy?” Why do we have to see his “humanity” which are only photo ops anyway. How human can you be, having the hubris to want to be president of the United States? Forget “nice” and go straight to “crazy.” I don’t care if the president is a mean, cold bastard, or a philanderer or picks his nose. I want a man or a woman who cares about the American people. All of them. I know, I know—a revolutionary approach to politics. Oh, and you have to get to know the mothers, too. Like I needed to see Paul Ryan’s mama out there on the stump? Like she has any idea what her son stands for? He’s just her little boy.
This “cult of personality”—the building of a personality for the candidate–is ridiculous. It demeans the process, if such a thing is possible now. These days we treat all of our candidates like celebrities—what they eat, what they wear, what they weigh, what their nearest and dearest say about them. How can go along with this tripe after the endless scandals and hypocrisies? It’s all a sham.
I just want a good person, a humane person, a smart person in the White House. Don’t care if the prez is married, an atheist, a foot fetishist, or a randy guy or gal who goes to Las Vegas and gets naked. So long as the Commander in Chief has a heart and soul as big as the ego must be, the rest is, frankly none of my business and a crashing bore. And I really would prefer an atheist, for sure.
Please go away, Anne Romney. You too, Michelle. Let your husbands fight it out, on the issues. Not on bedtime stories or pancakes.
However, I guess the ego of the wife has to be nearly as big as that of her husband. So, there’s no stopping these ambitious women.