Women, and Black Men, and Delegates. Oh My.
I anticipated missing all the election hoopla and hijinks tonight because I had to attend The Class That Shall Not Be Named. I'd forgotten, of course, that Montana and South Dakota aren't where I am, and, therefore, their primaries didn't end until TCTSNBN was over.
So I left class and went to Genuardi's. You know. Like you do.
Then I sat in my car in the parking lot for 15 minutes listening to Hillary's speech. The fat lady didn't exactly sing, did she? She sort of hummed a tune for a while and then decided to clap out the rhythm for the rest. It didn't even sound to me like she was even tapping her foot along with the beat. Regardless, I thought it was an excellent speech. I was really impressed and moved. For the first time in a long time I felt as though Hillary was speaking to me about me rather than speaking to herself about herself. I'll even go way out on this skinny limb and say that if she'd been speaking that sincerely and energetically all along, she might not be warming up for the big so-long-farewell aria.
Then I went into Genuardi's and bought the following:
shampoo
conditioner
eggs, which I got free for some unknown reason that might actually be a little nervous-making
daddy cereal
a frozen muffin top concoction that the boy child will eat for "breakfast"
celery
cookies for pre-school picnic
Then I locked myself in the freezer section and curled up in the fetal position and refused to speak for seven months because the only thing less interesting than the class I'm taking is my grocery list.
Strangely, I couldn't locate the no-carb double chocolate extra dense and enormous brownies I was hoping for. Bastards.
Then I got back in the car, or, as I have come to think of it (Thanks Adelle), my purse, and drove home.
Then I caught the last 10 minutes of Obama's speech.
Oh my.
It seemed to me that Obama's speech had kind of taken Hillary's speech out back and schooled it in speechifying in such a manner that Hillary's speech went home crying and will probably spend tomorrow eating ice cream and watching soaps.
"We will not use patriotism as a bludgeon."
"This is our time, America."
"Yes we can."
Damn. I got goosebumps.
So I left class and went to Genuardi's. You know. Like you do.
Then I sat in my car in the parking lot for 15 minutes listening to Hillary's speech. The fat lady didn't exactly sing, did she? She sort of hummed a tune for a while and then decided to clap out the rhythm for the rest. It didn't even sound to me like she was even tapping her foot along with the beat. Regardless, I thought it was an excellent speech. I was really impressed and moved. For the first time in a long time I felt as though Hillary was speaking to me about me rather than speaking to herself about herself. I'll even go way out on this skinny limb and say that if she'd been speaking that sincerely and energetically all along, she might not be warming up for the big so-long-farewell aria.
Then I went into Genuardi's and bought the following:
shampoo
conditioner
eggs, which I got free for some unknown reason that might actually be a little nervous-making
daddy cereal
a frozen muffin top concoction that the boy child will eat for "breakfast"
celery
cookies for pre-school picnic
Then I locked myself in the freezer section and curled up in the fetal position and refused to speak for seven months because the only thing less interesting than the class I'm taking is my grocery list.
Strangely, I couldn't locate the no-carb double chocolate extra dense and enormous brownies I was hoping for. Bastards.
Then I got back in the car, or, as I have come to think of it (Thanks Adelle), my purse, and drove home.
Then I caught the last 10 minutes of Obama's speech.
Oh my.
It seemed to me that Obama's speech had kind of taken Hillary's speech out back and schooled it in speechifying in such a manner that Hillary's speech went home crying and will probably spend tomorrow eating ice cream and watching soaps.
"We will not use patriotism as a bludgeon."
"This is our time, America."
"Yes we can."
Damn. I got goosebumps.
She ain't the fat lady, she said, "Until the lady in the pantsuit sings." So there.
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