We Americans are a silly bunch. We make laws then delight in breaking them. And we participate in democratic elections that leave fifty percent of the population celebrating their newly elected president, and the other fifty percent disillusioned and depressed—until the next election.
Choosing a president has become a question of, “who would you like to have in your living room?”
Really? Most of the people who sit on my dog-hair-covered couch are a lot like me. We share an artistic outlook and fear higher math, like calculating a twenty-percent tip on a ten-dollar meal out. I want someone way smarter than me setting foreign policy and calculating the gross domestic product.
How hard are any of us willing to work to host a famous politician? Truthfully, having a world leader in my living room would involve a major clean up. Tufts of dog fur fly through the air, and dirty tissues spill out of trashcans. Entertaining President Obama or Hillary Clinton would involve vacuuming the dog fur, scrubbing with a wet mop and duck-taping every last inch of upholstery.
We are a culture driven by appearance. Obama’s and Hillary’s hair, tinted gray by hard work and public service screams, “I am your parent!” Who wants to hang with their parents? I would need to sit up straight and eat all of my peas. Perhaps Hillary should have used her female form to her advantage. Instead of power suits, what if she had sported a red Queen Amidala gown and an outrageous updo?
On the other hand having Donald Trump over would feel like chilling with my mischievous older brother. His shocking surfer boy bangs and orange complexion invite me to just leave the dog hair and tissues. In fact I might artistically toss around some empty beer cans pulled from the green recycling bin. His disrespect for—everyone—makes me feel free. Perhaps we will delight in breaking a few laws just for fun.
If the election of 2016 really did get down to who we want to hang out with for four years, the majority of us (at least according to the Electoral College) just want to have fun. We don’t want to mind our parents. And we really don’t want to work too hard to tidy-up the place. Besides breaking rules is spicy. No matter how base the message, it’s entertaining to watch someone misbehave.
So here we are with our vexatious older brother in charge. How gray will our own hair grow as we consider maybe it shouldn’t just be about having fun? We might find that we do need some parental support after all. Personally, I am planning on living the next four years in DeNile. I hear it’s lovely and a great place to show off my new Queen Amidala gown I just ordered on Amazon.