The Presidential Election Cycle Morning-After Blues

It was a rough and wild ride, one you knew you’d never forget, and you drowsily awake in a state of lingering bliss as the sun rises on a Friday morning in late January 2017. It’s a brand-new day. You nudge your partner. “Hey sleepyhead, you awake?”

Your partner groans and stretches, then rolls over to face you, with the covers pulled up to her chin. It’s none other Hillary Rodham Clinton, or more intimately “H♡”, as you always liked to call her in your many illicit love notes to her. Her bleached-blonde hair still perfectly coiffed, she smiles sheepishly back at you.

“So, how does it feel, Madame President?” you ask. “Madame President — what a nice ring that has. Well, anyway, we did it!”

“We?”

“Yeah, all of us. You know, the voters. We got the first woman president elected to the White House: the dyed-in-the-wool Democrats, the dump-Trump Republicans and even the never-Hillary Sanders supporters. We all came together as a nation, put aside our differences, and got you elected as leader of the free world.”

“So,” you seductively ask, “was it…good for you too?”

“You mean last night?” wonders H♡.

“I mean, the last year. The campaigning, the TV debates, the primaries, the big party convention with all the balloons. We gave you our heart and soul. Now, our hearts are yours to take into the White House with you. It’s about time to show the men what a woman can do in the nation’s highest office.”

“Sounds good to me, honey,” H♡ replies.

“The Obamas were such nice people, so friendly and down-to-earth, and Barack had that real human touch. It was so refreshing to have a president in the White House who could talk, sing, dance, laugh — even cry, just like everyone else. That’s gonna be a hard act to follow, especially with your cool, calculated image. But let me give you some pointers. May I?” you inquire. H♡ nods.

“First of all, you need a family in your new residence, just like Barack had. That’s a must. The White House is a family-friendly facility now. We suggest you bring Chelsea back in, and her family too. You know, kinda show Chelsea the ropes of your job, just in case. And that serial philanderer of a husband, Bill, you can keep in a suitcase. Joking! But seriously, we’re expecting a lot of things from you, so don’t let us down.”

H♡ raises an eyebrow. “Expecting things? Like what?”

“Oh, like gay rights. You need to soften up on that. Gay rights are so important to so many people. If Barack can embrace it, so can you. Maybe make your chief of staff a prominently known gay person. Fill your administration with them, and you’ll be a true heroine.”

You continue. “Then there’s the Trans-Pacific Partnership trade deal. Bernie Sanders made you distance yourself from the TPP, Trump was always against it — in fact, most people around the world are against it. And you need to remain against it too. American corporations are way too fat and greedy as it is. It’s time for you and your VP, Tim Kain, to rein in Wall Street and lay down the law: American domestic needs come first and last.”

H♡ raises the other eyebrow, and you go on. “Foreign policy: New change of direction. You’re gonna show that a woman commander-in-chief doesn’t need to be a warmonger, like the men. Women are the life-bringers, men are the life-takers. Ain’t that the truth? So, what we want you to do is bring this so-called ‘war on terrorism’ to a close. Bush started it, Barack extended it, now Hillary’s gonna end it. Ha! That’ll make the Pentagon dudes shake in their macho boots!”

H♡ scoots up in the bed and faces you. You’ve got her attention now. “And then there’s Israel,” you continue. “You tell them you no longer need their dirty lobby-group money. Tell them to stop killing the Palestinians and start negotiating with them. If we didn’t put up with apartheid in South Africa, we’re sure not gonna tolerate it in the Middle East. If Israel refuses to follow your orders, you cut off their billions of dollars in U.S. military aid. Simple as that. Same goes for Saudi Arabia, with all its oil and human rights abuses.”

A feeling of hope for the future wells up within you. “And the global environment? You’re gonna own that issue. ‘The Climate Change President’ — how’s that for a brand image? You’re gonna go much farther on that than Barack ever did. We can’t let the faux-Frenchies up north in Canada beat us on this one. Dealing with climate change once and for all will be America’s most important policy priority, and you’re the one who’s gonna make history and make it happen.”

You’re on a roll now. “And speaking of apartheid, Black lives do matter here in the USA, and we want you to reach out to the younger generation of African American citizens who have much to say. Put your foot down firmly: no more police violence against our Black brothers and sisters of this nation. Apologize for that racist ‘super predator’ remark you made about Black American kids, back when your hubby was prez. Really reach out to the African American community now — after all, they helped put both you and Billy-boy in the White House, remember?”

By now there’s a palpable feeling of tension in the bedroom. H♡ is scowling.

“And don’t get me started on Henry Kissinger, the old playboy of the West Wing,” you add. “Huh. That relic from the Vietnam war days can’t even travel overseas these days for fear of getting subpoenaed by other countries and thrown in jail for one past war crime or another. True! And you want to snuggle up to him as a respected elder statesman now? Forget it. Tell him to take his bloated male ego and stick it—”

“ENOUGH!”

The sudden outburst by H♡ fills the room and shocks you into silence. She’s beet-red in the face and trying to catch her breath. A few strands of hair slide down her forehead. You pull the bedcovers up to your eyes in fear.

“I’ll have none of that,” H♡ scolds you. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m an old hand in these matters. Cut off money from Wall Street? Flush TPP down the toilet? Give Israel the finger? Climate change president? Coddle Black voters? Are you out of your mind?

“But what about all those nice promises you made during the election campaign?” you say, defending yourself from her wrath.

“You naïve nitwit. Don’t you know how the game is played by now? The campaign is the campaign. All the candidates make promises and break them as soon as they get into the White House. Barack sure did. What happened to all that ‘change’ stuff he promised? And you want me to suddenly come out as Ms. Nice and Clean? You people amaze me.”

“You people?”

“Yes. Voters. Of both parties. First thing you want to do when we get into office is start telling us what you expect, what you want from us. Well, I’ll tell you what you’re going to get from me: You’re going to get a government of national consensus. It’s time to heal the wounds of the past, let bygones be bygones, and move on. America has a whole planet to conquer, and it’s time for all of us to join together and do it. I’m the president of all Americans now, not just the liberal ones.”

You see where she is going with this. “Oh, no. Tell me you’re not gonna do it.”

“Yes indeed,” H♡ says. “Top of my list: reach out to Donald Trump and his millions of disgruntled white voters. I need them on my side now. We’re too divided as a nation. The country needs to unite. Want to know which position I’ve got lined up for Trump?”

“Spare me the pain,” you say, your eyes filling with tears. “That scumbag! After all he said about you? After all the disrespect he’s shown women everywhere? How insulting. I can’t believe it. Just can’t believe it…”

“Oh, come off it, honey,” H♡ says, wagging a finger in your face. “Get with the program. Quit acting like some childish Don Quixote tilting at windmills. I’ve got a nation to run, and you’re sniffling about respect? It’s a mean, dirty world out there and you need men to help run it. Well, I’m all for sharing power with the dumber sex, and yes, even with right-wing chauvinistic pigs like Trump, if I have to. But I will get the job done — and you will support me in this.”

You gasp. The person lying next to you in bed, the person you thought you knew so well these past many months of the presidential campaign, seems like a cold-hearted stranger to you now.

You muster up some courage, look at her long and hard, and before you can stop yourself, the words fly out of your mouth: “You know, the people put you in power. And the people can kick you out again. If you take us for granted, we can take you down.”

H♡ laughs hysterically. “You’ll do no such thing. Your money didn’t get me elected in the first place. You don’t have that kind of money, honey. Save your little piggy bank for your favorite charity. In the big leagues, only the big money counts. No one gets to the White House unbought and unsold. No one. You play, you pay.”

“But…but…but….”

“You’re starting to drool, honey. Spit it out. What are you trying to say?”

“But…but…BUT I VOTED FOR YOU!!” And you sob uncontrollably into your bedsheets.

This emotional scene is all too much for H♡, who gets out of bed and starts getting dressed. The minutes pass, and she stands in front of a full-length mirror in a brand-new, perfectly creased, navy blue pant suit. “Well, honey,” she says, holding out her arms, “how do I look?”

“Like a million bucks,” you say, “and I hate you for it. And stop calling me ‘honey’. It makes me feel so cheap.”

“Well, I’ve got a presidential inauguration to get to this afternoon, so we’ll say goodbye here. Thanks for all the support and love along the way, and let me know how I’m doing from time to time. OK?”

“So, that’s it?” you ask, hurt. “I screw you, and then you walk out of my life forever — just like that?”

“Oh, nothing is forever. I’ll be back again in four years. We’ll find another big, bad Republican demon to scare you to death, and you’ll vote me right back into office again. That’s the way the crooked old game is played in this great country of ours.”

H♡ gets to the bedroom door, opens it, and just before she exits, turns around and addresses you one last time with the knowing smirk of a lover: “Besides, honey,” she winks, “just who screwed who?”

Moral of the Story: Vote only for someone you can face waking up to the next morning.

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