I am standing in the kitchen cooking lunch absolutely dying inside right now because the President of the United States of America is sitting in a cafe a few blocks away eating his lunch. The Secret Service have blocked off the roads he'll be travelling on. I rue the fact that my three babies are fighting off bronchitis; I would be standing out there holding a sign. I have no idea what that sign would say.
My grandma Lola once kissed President Bush. She was sitting in her wheel chair in her bright red coat with the hood. She extended her hand and smiled. He noticed her and walked over to greet her. She grabbed his hand, yanked him down, and planted an enormous red-lipstick kiss. She was always surprisingly strong. Men in suits rushed towards her. She said "No gun" (which I didn't know she knew in English.) Hearing her thick accent, he said "Tenemos que ganar." She raised pounded her fist in the air as I've only seen her do during the World Cup. "VAMOS A GANAR!" she shouted back.
Obama stood in a factory a few miles from here and spoke about how a piece of Sputnik once dropped in this town and that once again, we'd be at the fore-front of the new global race.
My President made a casual Sputnik mention and I wasn't there. I honestly feel a little sick.
It is a tragic near-miss. An epic fail. Like the President is about to fist-bump you but you just stand there with your hand outstretched. Mr. Obama, a few miles west: I would have made you a hot cup of borscht. I would have fed you arugula. It could have been great.
Camping- Vashon Style
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