Dear Aunt Sophie,
I have a problem. My f***ing husband is constantly upstaging me. We had a deal - I’d help him become president and then he’d help me do the same. In fact, when our daughter is old enough, we’re aiming for a hat trick. But I’m jumping ahead. Right now S***head isn’t keeping up his end of the bargain. Instead of helping, he keeps upstaging me.
Here’s what I mean. I wrote a book. In fact, I wrote two books, well, I sort of wrote them. Anyway, my last one got an 8 mil advance, which I thought was not too bad, even though I’d been counting on 15. But he got 12, the p***k. That’s a full third more than I got. See what I mean?
It wouldn’t bother me so much if I knew I was going to get anything out of it, but unless he has devoted at least eighteen chapters to my accomplishments while we lived in the White House, I don’t see that it’s going to help me get back there. I just know he’s talked more about himself than he has about me. Yes, I know it was supposed to be his autobiography, but the least he could do is include a lot of stuff about my policy initiatives. But I’ll just bet it’s all about him. Bor-ring. And no, I haven’t read it, no matter what I’ve said in public. I did read what he wrote to you, though, and it was so typical - “She adjusted. She’ll adjust.” He’s the one who has the adjusting to do. Not being president requires an adjustment, believe me.
My current job, which is senator of a big state, is a real yawner. There’s this place they call Upstate, which is really nowhere. Of course I never go there.
It makes me furious every time I think about the White House. I really miss that place. Those were some of the happiest days of my life. And S***head is supposed to help me get back there, but if I know that bastard he won’t even contribute to my campaign. Twelve mil! He’ll talk other people into it, but I bet he doesn’t give me a dime. People don’t realize this, but he is one cheap SOB. I hope you don’t take him up on his offer to buy you a hamburger. He’ll find a way to get you to pay.
And another thing – they just hung those portraits at the White House and guess what? – he looks bigger in his than I do in mine. He takes over everything, like the Blob. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be gracious about it.
There’s no way to avoid him. Every time you turn around, there’s his punim (that’s Jewish for face. Did you know one of my relatives once married a Jew?). When we stopped living together I thought I’d finally reached the point where I wouldn’t have to look at that cheating, lying mug all the time, but no, Mr. Horndog’s s***eating country-boy grin is plastered all over the place to help sell his f***ing book.
How can I make people pay more attention to me?
Have you been attending anger management classes? You seem to have a much better grip on your Tourette’s logographia than you did the last time I heard from you. Whatever brought about the improvement must have taken place at taxpayer expense, but I suppose that’s what’s meant by the common good.
I can well imagine you’re dying to go back to the White House, even though it must’ve been quite a bummer mopping up after Vince Foster. But who wouldn’t miss the thrill of siccing the IRS on people she doesn’t like? And why shouldn’t you have another crack at that elegant china?
Try not to let the fact that your husband’s enjoying himself spoil your life. I know it’s hard to accept, but he was the President, not you. That’s why he got the bigger advance (50% more, by the way – it’s worse than you thought) and why so many people with nothing better to do are reserving places on line at his book-signings. It’s also why his portrait looks, well, more presidential.
If you want people to pay attention to you, keep making policy statements like the one you just made in San Francisco – you know, the one where you told people you were going to take things away from them for the common good. But don’t waste your breath at out-of-the-way fundraisers where Joe Sixpack won’t hear them. See if you can work all the goodies into your convention speech so Joe will know exactly what you have in mind for him. Let him know you’ll be choosing his doctor for him and deciding which bedtime stories he’s allowed to read his kids.
In the meantime, try not to get too worked up over your husband’s success. After all, the fact that you were still married when he wrote the book should be worth plenty some day when the statute of limitations runs out and it’s finally safe for you to dump him.
Good luck and God bless.
PS- who did hire Craig Livingstone?