Penis Measuring, Rat Copulation, and What Really Matters

Friday, my mother announced she was ready to go have dinner with Dad. I told her to forget that plan, because she already has hotel reservations for the senior son's wedding next fall. 

Meanwhile the blog was the farthest thing from my mind. Good thing I had written down a really scary thought. I'll get to that in a minute. 

Much has been written this week about how the GOP is imploding, and usually, I think this is just business as usual for them, but penis-measurement contests followed closely by Ted Cruz all but admitting he's a rat-fucker who has no desire to "copulate with Donald Trump," (that's a quote folks) makes me think there might be something to the rumor they are killing themselves. 

Here's is the rat-fucker episode up close and personal. You have to see it to believe it really happened and that it wasn't some weird-ass mash-up. it is not:

Oshkosh, Wisconsin  -  March 25th, 2016

Now, in this singular instance, I happen to agree with Ted Cruz; the Trump campaign teaming up with the National Enquirer is a parody of electioneering. It's beyond disgusting. But you cannot escape that line,  

"Well let me be clear: Donald Trump may be a rat, but I have no desire to copulate with him." 

I'm pretty sure that didn't come out right, because it sure sounds like Senator Cruz just admitted to being a rat-fucker. 

That line is problematic on so many levels.

So, forget for a moment how it plays out here. Pretend you are a student in Beijing who looks at America as a dream county. Or imagine you're in the Sudan where you hear about education in America and can only dream that one day you can get some of that. Or from the perspective of Kim Jong-un. When he gets up off the floor from laughing, he can go back to playing with the nuclear bomb models. Nuff said?

But how about this? How about looking a little bit down a very dark and windy road at a Trump presidential candidacy. Who is his running mate? That's the real scary question, isn't it?

G-d forbid there is a Trump presidency, rest assured it won't last long. Six months in, he will be bored with a Congress so obstructionist it make President Obama's version heigh-ho-off-to-work-we-go Mouseketeer happy-go-lucky by comparison.  This Congress is not gonna move one muscle to shore up Trump. And most of the clowns will be running office pools on how long until gets bored. Once he figures out the power part is pretty empty, he will lose patience with being president....just like Sarah Palin got bored with being governor of Alaska. When he realizes being POTUS is not the same as being chairman of some television bored room, he won't stick around. 

However, in the unlikely case he does stick around for a while, he is a target for all manner of people who already hate him. To that end, any Veep has to be an insurance policy against such an unlikely event. I mean, if Ben Carson was next in line, wouldn't you be loathe to see Trump neutralized?

I'm not 100% in either the Hillary or the Bernie camp, but I can tell you I enjoy their debates because there are ideas involved. You don't have to agree with them to find their discourse compelling. And that G-d sent Bernie a real-live tweet is, you have to admit, a bit of a bonus. That bird was great. I have no idea how he got there, but that was the best bit of street theatre I've seen in decades. It was just perfect. 

And that brings me back to Mom. I tried to explain about the bird. I showed her a picture. She looked at it, and said, "Gotta be a trained bird." She has stopped watching the news, and when I asked her why, she told me it's depressing. "This is not why my father had an election machine brought to the hospital," she said. "This is a shondeh. This is not what I want for my great-granddaughter."

Mom may be 93, but she pretty much has all her marbles, and probably a few extra. The best thing in her world right now is hearing, "Hi, Bubbe!" when Little Miss comes through the door. She holds Bubbe's hand, then brings her things...like Star Brite Pony and quarters. Those moments of exchange are the most precious. Even though Little Miss barely understands the importance of sharing, much less the impact she has on her great-grandmother, the rest of us get it. And every so often, we manage to capture the moment with one of our i-Whatevers. 

The gift of time we have been given these last 10 months is an amazing gift I never thought I would get. Seeing my mom holding her great-granddaughter's hand makes me wanna get up and go ring doorbells for whatever candidate is going to restore order and dignity to this election. Just like my mom, I do not want Little Miss to ever be exposed to such base and childish behavior by adults. It's unbecoming.

Tonight, Mom managed to eat a whole mini-ice cream cone. First thing in 3 days.  I hope this is a sign of some recovery.

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Day

When you get to be over 90, you can eat whatever you want.