I’m just letting you know that I will never run for president. Never. First of all, I don’t want to live in Washington, DC.
Secondly, I would not like to have to get dressed up every day. High heels, jewelry, makeup and grown-up clothes every day? Nope. Not happening.
Thirdly, I have a low tolerance for idiots, and from what I see lately, there’s a ton of them in national politics.
But most importantly, I do not want my opponent to launch shady attack ads using all of my stupid mistakes and questionable behaviors from birth till present day.
For example, I once hit my sleeping dad on the head with a hammer. Granted, it was a plastic hammer. And granted, I was two years old. But can you imagine how that action would be spun during a presidential campaign?
“Presidential candidate investigated for possible parental abuse.”
Here’s another potential headline: “Presidential candidate flagrantly disregards assigned seating arrangements.”
Okay, I can explain. I was in kindergarten. It was the second day of school and we were supposed to sit on the carpet in a circle in the same places we sat in the day before.
There was a girl with a great-looking plaid skirt and matching hat sitting across from me, and I elected to get up and sit by her rather than where I was told to sit. (Even at an early age, my keen fashion sense was on point).
I had the flu a couple times. Oh, and chicken pox when I was six.
“Presidential candidate has history of serious illness.” And wait — I also had a hangnail recently.
I beat up a kid who was picking on my younger brother. Threw him and his glasses in a hedge, in front of all the neighborhood kids. I was 10.
“Presidential candidate’s lifelong predilection towards violence uncovered,” or “Presidential candidate has no respect for hedges. Or eyewear.”
In seventh grade, I decided I wanted bangs so I cut my own hair. Looked really awful.
“Presidential candidate found to be dangerous with sharp objects,” or “Presidential candidate cannot cut hair to save her life.”
One time, I and some friends lit a plastic bucket on fire, and I kicked it. The ensuing pain and peeling off of melted plastic from flesh forced me to scream some swear words. I was 14.
“Presidential candidate demonstrates disturbing history of the use of foul language in public.”
I got stuck in a phone booth once, when I was in high school. The door jammed while I was in there and the fire department was called to get it open.
“Presidential candidate defaces public telephone, promoting first-responders to act.” (They had to remove the door, and shortly thereafter, the phone booth was also removed.)
I once turned the sprayer in my kitchen sink on my sons and their friend Paul. Why? Because they were annoying me at the dinner table.
“Presidential candidate ignores local water restrictions with intentional disregard of natural resources.”
“Presidential candidate douses unsuspecting citizen with alcohol.”
It’s not as bad as it sounds. Long story short, about 25 years ago, I dropped a Bloody Mary on a guy in tennis whites while I was waitressing. Oops. (Dude ended up with a free meal and new tennis whites).
“Presidential candidate disrespects beef farmers worldwide.”
Okay, I threw a small piece of roast beef at my son Georgie once. I forget why. Pretty sure he deserved it. I may be nuts, but I don’t go around flinging perfectly good meat for no reason.
“Presidential candidate puts entire population of Philadelphia in jeopardy with demonstrated contempt for traffic laws.”
On the way out of Citizens Bank Park after a Phillies game, I inadvertently ran two red lights near the ball park. In a row. It was hot, it was late, the Phillies had lost (what else is new?) and I was confused. So sue me.
There’s a lot more in my past that I am forgetting (or suppressing) that I know would get twisted and turned and amplified and underlined into some major shocking attack ads. Hence my decision not to run for office.
“Presidential candidate beats up her opponent and throws him and his glasses into a hedge.”
