Dear Aunt Sophie,
I’ll bet you just got a letter from my wife saying she can’t understand why I’m not supporting her on the ports issue. Jeez, I just know her so well.
She knew all about the deal, just like she knew all about the deal with the Chinese on the Long Beach port. In fact she thought it was pretty cool at the time. It’s not as if they got it for free or anything. You should see the size of the contribution they made to my library.
I don’t think she understands how much that library means to me. It’s the record of my legacy. Me – a pudgy kid who played the sax in high school. If my wife had gone to my school I never would have gotten to first base with her, forget about getting her into the back of my pickup truck. But I took her all the way – all the way to Washington. And how does she show her gratitude? By complaining to you about me, that’s how. (I just know she’s written.)
It’s amazing. You’d think I owed her something. I mean, who’s following whom into the White House?
You don’t have to answer me this time. I just hope you can make her feel ashamed of herself for complaining about me. If it weren’t for me she’d still be flipping real estate in Little Rock.
Dear Aunt Sophie,
The problem is my f***ing husband again. I’ve staked out a position on this port business that makes me look really good on national security and that a**hole hasn’t done squat to back me up. This is the perfect issue to use to bushwhack Bush and s***head can’t manage to do more than shuffle his feet and murmur something like “It’s probably not a good thing.”
After all I did for him! He’s a real piece of work. He’ll fudge on anything, but when it matters, can he force himself to say, “At first I thought it was good for the country, but now I realize I made a mistake and I think my wife is brilliant to have seen it before I did?” No.
This is the same man who’s apologized for every single thing that’s ever gone wrong on the planet. I can still hear him apologizing for slavery with the little kvetch in his voice. (By the way, you must have noticed how good I’m getting with Yiddish – you did know my step-grandmother’s second husband’s cousin’s half-brother’s adopted son’s school bus driver was Jewish, right?)
He’s probably afraid people will find out he’s been working on the deal, but he must know better. We have friends in the media. Besides if people did find out he could say he really wished he’d discussed it with his brilliant wife when the subject first came up, because if he had he never woulda, yada yada yada.
Anyway, so what if he’s in it up to his chin. We need the money. We’ve got two big houses to maintain.
He’d better wake up if he wants to live in that big white house again. He hates Chappaqua almost as much as I do. I’ll be running as a wartime candidate, for C***** sake. Why can’t he get on the same page with me when it counts?
Maybe people are right. Maybe I can’t trust him.
How painful it must be to come to the realization that one’s husband is not trustworthy. To learn this lesson publicly must be doubly humiliating, especially after all those years of certainty that no matter what door you might unexpectedly fling open, you could be sure to find your mate devoting himself to the well-being not only of every intern in Washington, but also of every female in the rest of the galaxy, as well.
How humiliating it must be to realize that he could apologize for never having had sex with that women but he can’t make himself do a little semantic two-step to help you with your next career move. What a cad!
But maybe we’re being too quick to judge. Perhaps he thinks people view you more sympathetically when he’s being fickle. Maybe all his rotten behavior has been nothing more than his way of making you appear more likeable, almost human. Gennifer Flowers, Dolly Kyle Browning, Sally Perdue, Kathleen Willey, Paula Jones, Monica, the blue dress – he did it all for you. And this is how you repay him?
In the face of all this generosity, why should you get uptight about his zest for a little discreet canoodling with Hanan Ashrawi and the Crown Prince of Dubai?
Every morning you should thank Whomever that you managed to snag the one boy who could lead you where no laser-voiced, faux-blond, Black Panther-sympathizing, Suha-smooching, socialist cattle futures trader has ever gone before.
Stand by your man. He’s doing it all for you.
Good luck and God bless.
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