I should be ecstatic. In just one day, Barack Hussein Obama is going to be sworn in as President of the United States. A multiracial son of an immigrant and a single mother (not the same person, of course), is going to be the leader of our country. He is literate and eloquent, intelligent and sensitive (for the most part), thoughtful and exacting. He is gentle and strong at the same time. Oh yeah, he’s got a nice bod, too, but that’s really secondary to his mental brilliance. He also has a strong, beautiful wife who is as intelligent if not more so than he, and two beautiful, joyful, seemingly well-adjusted kids as well.
We have been living in a collective nightmare for the past eight years, and it’s almost time to emerge from it. I should be dancing in the streets and whooping it up, but instead, I am simply….waiting. Waiting for what, you ask? Even if you don’t, I’m going to tell you, anyway.
I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. W. is a dickhead of the most supreme, so I can’t imagine he is going to bow out gracefully. In fact, I have this recurring daymare that he will find a way to burrow himself in the White House–permanently. I’m afraid he’s going to be like that uncle in the attic whom everyone pretends doesn’t exist. It’s a little story that is part horror and part comedy. In fact, it goes a little something like this.
Tuesday, Jan. 20, 2009, 6 a.m. W. is laying in his bed, half-awake. Laura has been up for hours as she doesn’t need to sleep much. She is puttering about the room with a blank expression on her face.
W.: (yawning, only half-awake), Gee whiz, Lolly. I’m tired somethin’ fierce. What time is it?
Laura: 6 a.m., George. I don’t know why you’re so tired. You went to bed at nine (sotto voce) as usual.
W.: Lolly! I’ma supposed to be briefed in ten minutes. Why in tarnation did you let me sleep so late?
W. leaps out of bed and frantically looks for his robe.
Laura (sharply): Relax, George. There is no briefing today. In fact, there will be no more briefings–ever. It is your last day as president. Don’t you remember? That Barack Obama is taking over at noon.
W. stops his floundering and looks stunned.
W.: That’s today? Why didn’t you tell me last night, Lolly? I woulda stayed up alll night and, you know, goofed around some. Carved my initials into the bedpost–heh heh, heh heh.
Laura: George! That is not funny. You are not allowed to make those kinds of jokes today, you hear me?
W.: I know, Lolly. I gotta put on my difign, dingy-fied, uh, serious face. My decider face. I can do it!
W. grins vacantly, his eyes shifting from side to side. There is a fly in the room, and it’s distracting him. Suddenly, his face darkens . Laura tenses as she knows what this means.
W. : Lolly, if I’m no longer The Decider, does that mean I can’t stay here?
Laura: Yes, George. We have a nice little place in Crawford, remember? I showed you the pictures!
W.: I thought that was just a magazine or something! I don’t wanna move! I like living in the White House. I like being President of the United States of Amer-ca! I’m not going, and you can’t make me!
W. plops down on the floor and folds his arms across his chest. Laura rolls her eyes, but she stoops down so she can look her husband in the eyes.
Laura: George, we’ve had this conversation. We’ve practiced leaving the White House, remember? You did it so well, and I was so proud of you. Now, we have to do it for real.
W.: No! Don’t wanna! I’m still president, so I’m gonna write a law that I can live in the White House forever! I can ask Dickie to change the Constitution–he’s done it before.
W. hops up from the ground, his face mulish.
Laura (exasperated): George, I do not have time for this. You need to get your behind in gear and get ready to leave. Now!
W.: No! Not gonna! Not unless Daddy fixes it so I can be the Commish–of the MLB. That’s the only thing I want to do, and I’m not leaving this room until he gets it for me. I’m having Dickie write that in the Constitution. I get to be the Commissioner of Baseball, or else I get to stay as President! While I’m at it, I’m gonna outlaw abortion and make everyone be Christians! They will love me for it.
Laura turns on her heels and exits the bedroom without saying one more word. The curtain closes on Still-President Bush clinging to his fantasies.
The End.
Yeah, I know it most likely won’t happen, but I am not going to breathe easily until the Obamas have moved into the White House and changed the locks. Only then will I believe that the Error of W. is finally over.
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