November Dreams

I dreamed that Michele Obama and I were best friends.

She was preparing for a major coming out party in DC
snce she was a princess from abroad,
so she and her two daughters hid in a trailer,
in the back woods of Appalachia. I had just bought the place
because it had a pool--a pool on cinder blocks.

Michle let me wear her ground fatiques from the first
Desert Stoem. I knew it was a rare privilege, even if
she swore they meant nothing to her and the press
was always trying to get her to say they did.

Life at the trailor was going well, and I couldn't believe
my good fortune. That is, until my MIL decided to visit.

I was shocked to see her there, trying to climb up the steps.
I knew I should introduce them, but to my horror, MIL said:
"Well, if it isn't Condoleezza Rice!"
What an utterly racist thing to say! I was ruined! Having my brain
splathered with such a statement, I stuttered; I had forgotten
the First Lady's name. I ran and hid in the bathroom, deperately
racking my brain for a name that started with a "V."

Jump cut to the inaugration. Somehow I snuck in and was trying to
convince those who stood by that Michele and I were best friends.
No one bought it. Instead, we all wanted to talk about her dress
and the fact that she got to design it herself.
What a lovely peach, frilly, sequined sloofa.

I tried to get her attenetion, but, understandably, she had
cameras to worry about. Well, I had a camera too, so I decided to
focus on her girls, who recognized me and graced me with affection.

They swam in the fountains and I took underwater pictures of them.
I knew they could open their eyes underwater and snapped a shot
to show Michele. She was watching, kindof sadly. There was no way she could
join us and she knew she was missing out.