Grooming and tacking up last night, we were chatting about what's been on the teebee lately. This is, of course, politics, and we are, of course, leaning the way that you expect. El Bandito sighed and said, "Can't we make the barn the one political conversation–free zone in the city?"
He got a long level stare from the three of us. (Possibly also from the horses, who might've been wondering what kind of naif expects anywhere in DC to be such a peaceful oasis.) "No," said Pat carefully. "I don't think that you can expect that." Come on, buddy: a barn run by and mainly patronized by women, in a city so blue it practically fluoresces, with an insanely important election looming, and you want people who see each other once a week to step around your political fatigue? Good luck, man, but it isn't going to happen.
Although, to be fair, sometimes we may just skip the polysyllabic words and go straight for dolphin-like squeaks of glee. Would that be better?
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2 comments:
Heh. Last night I met up with a bunch of fangirls for drinks, and we found ourselves still there, several drinks in, when the speech started. Across the alcove from our table was a group of young-ish guys in suits and their girlfriends, all of whom were intently listening to the TV. So we, the fangirls, were concerned that we were going to have to, you know, fight. Until, that is, the guys in suits started heckling McCain before WE could. Dear Republicans: You have lost Wall Street. Oops?
I await the day when "fangirl moms" are a coveted demographic voting segment. (Hey, I am aware of all internet traditions.)
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