I cannot begin to tell you how shocked I was to read that Hillary Clinton has held imaginary conversations with the late Eleanor Roosevelt and Mohandas Gandhi. Allegedly, these sessions took place in the White House. News of these sessions came from Bob Woodward’s book, “The Choice.”
Things have been a bit slow for Bob since he filed his sensational, whistle-blowing stories on Watergate with “The Washington Post.” Shocking revelations like this will most likely put him right back on top. I think you can safely say that thanks to Bob Woodward, Americans everywhere are turning to their pets and saying, “Pookie, can you believe that Hillary Clinton is having conversations with dead people?” I know when I told my doggie, Sandy, we just looked at each other and wagged our heads. Well, she also wagged her tail, but she takes politics far too seriously.
Although some people don’t believe it, pets can be great conversationalists, offering amazing insight into very profound issues like, “Spot, shall we take the long way home or the short-cut?”
“Sparky, would you rather watch the Tonight Show or David Letterman? Oh, Sparky, I’m sorry. I forgot how Dave’s Stupid Pet Tricks segment offends you, never mind, we’ll watch Jimmy Fallon.”
See what I mean? Undoubtedly, Hillary has not spent nearly enough time at home or she would have discovered that Socks probably had more answers for her than either Eleanor or Ghandi.
If Hillary is looking for good conversations, she might want to try the kitchen. I have found great solace among my canned goods, sometimes staring for 15 minutes straight, waiting for one of them to give me a clue as to what to cook for dinner. Sometimes it’s slow, but eventually one of them chimes in, maybe the tomatoes sautéed in garlic and peppers, or the asparagus. Although, usually asparagus is so shy, it has to be spoken to directly. But, if I stand there long enough, one of them cracks.
Then, of course, there’s the refrigerator. Every time I open the door, there’s an eggplant or a carton of mushrooms shouting, “Cook me, now! You said in the grocery store how beautiful I was and what a wonderful dish I’d make. And now look at me, past my prime – a squishy spot already starting to form on my bottom!”
Then there are the tomatoes, “We’re getting soggy in here! Don’t close the door!”
I, of course, apologize profusely and remind them all of the good intentions I had on Saturday, when I was fresh and rested, but now it’s Thursday and I’m beat. Sorry, maybe tomorrow.
Poor Hillary, probably denied access to her own canned goods and vegetables by an in-house gourmet chef, no wonder she had to resort to dead people. In her position there’s only one thing to do, go to the closet. Now there’s where I have some of my most meaningful conversations, in fact they usually set the mood for my entire day. It begins simply enough. “Let’s see what I’ll wear today…”
“You can’t wear me, remember the button on my jacket that fell off and you said you’d sew it back? Surprise, surprise, you never did!”
“All right, all right, I’ll do it tonight. I’ll just wear the beige linen.”
“Don’t you remember the last time you wore me you spilled iced tea on my front and promised you’d take me to the cleaners immediately, of course, you never did!”
“I’m really sorry. I’m just so busy, first the vegetables, and now you guys. I’m going to have to either get better organized or maybe try out those nice new Bose earphones. They claim to shut out all unpleasant noises. Wonder if that includes vegetables?”