Now that all four kids are off the family payroll and the house remodel is done—translation: my bathrooms have doors—I realized I’m going to have a little free time around November. So I have decided to run for president of the United States.

I don’t want you to think this is a rash decision. In preparation, I watched as much of the candidate debates as was humanly possible without benefit of residence in a state with legalized marijuana. I’m now convinced that I possess the necessary qualifications to be a presidential candidate:

1. Family Values. My mother was one of thirteen kids, my father one of ten. Their generation was so devoted to family values that I have about a hundred first cousins. Since any family with less than six kids was an object of prayers (there might have been novenas), every last one of those family members has about a ton of other relatives, all of them voters, even the lawyers. And since there are no taped records of me bragging about grabbing anyone by their genitals, I’m confident that my family values will get me enough electoral votes for a landslide victory.
2. Government Spending. As I understand it, the deficit is a measure of the difference between what the government spends and what it takes in. The cure for this is simple: every time the government looks up and says, “Oops, we spent more on that Wall than we’ll take in for the next decade,” I’ll tell it to just sell something it’s not using, like North Dakota or the vice-president.
3. 

   [image credit: Diary of a Mad Mind]

   Kissing Babies. After considering the consequences of indiscriminate baby-kissing, I am an advocate of “Safe Campaigning”. A handshake instead of a kiss might not make as good a photo-op, but remember: by reelection time, all those babies will be old enough to appear on Oprah. They’ll tell how the trauma of nonconsensual kisses from a stranger old enough to be their president led to that unfortunate incident involving their entire family and semi-automatic weapons. Next the story will be made into a mini-series on cable with the candidates played by the reunited cast of “Gilligan’s Island” and the kid’s family played by Hamburger Helper.
4. Convention. Since we don’t have time to blow up enough balloons for our own political convention, we’ve decided to have a video conference sing-along instead. My friend Janine pointed out that you can sing tabloid headlines to the tune of “Camptown Races,” so everyone can join in on FaceTime. (Or if anyone joins us who doesn’t have an iPhone, we can move to Zoom but I warn you, we’ll spend at least the first fifteen minutes asking each other if they can can hear us now.) Callers can contribute their favorite headlines, such as:
   1. 1. 1. SANDERS CAMPAIGN RUN BY SPACE ALIENS (doo-dah, doo-dah)
         2. SOLID GOLD LOO STOLEN FROM BLENHEIM PALACE (O doo-doo day!)
         3. “STILL HERE” SAYS PARLIAMENT; “STILL BREXITING” SAYS BORIS. (doo-dah, doo-dah)
         4. FOX NEWS ANCHORS VOLUNTEER FOR HEAD TRANSPLANTS (O doo-dah day!)
         5. TRUMP TELLS UKRAINE INVESTIGATE BIDEN OR YOU’RE IN DEEP (doo-dah, doo-dah)
         6. DEMS IMPEACH TRUMP: THERE’LL BE HELL TOUPEE (O doo-dah day!)
5. Foreign Policy. My first act would be to make Kim Jong-un a completely ineffectual figurehead cut off from the mainstream of local and international political life by appointing him vice president of the United States.
6. Credibility. I have never solicited nor enjoyed a ‘golden shower’, even after my kids had to explain to me what it was, but not who was going to clean up that mess. During the Vietnam War, if they had been drafting high school girls whose only documented skill was the ability to lip-sync “Stop in the Name of Love,” I would have been proud to serve my country. Sadly, I was never asked.
7. Qualifications. I have never held elected office. OK, I did run for junior class president at Our Lady of Plaid Academy for Unwed Girls. But my opponent, Sheila Daugherty, had a brother who was captain of the football team at our companion school, Brother Poshboys. She promised a date with a football player to anybody who voted for her. I know she got my vote.
8. Election Promises. An important quality in a candidate is the ability to learn from experience. So vote for me and I’ll get you a date with a football player.