When I filed last week’s column (and I really enjoy saying that), I figured there would be another one to follow up on the idea of the “All Gender” bathroom. Something about the need for new etiquette for the usage of the 21st century restroom and what that might look like. It’s nice knowing you have something to write about in advance of your deadline (something else I enjoy saying). As if there nothing new would come up this week.
By Friday night, it was obvious that the best thing to write about would be the Donald Trump bus tape—assuming everything that to be said about it hadn’t been exhausted by Wednesday night. So I spent the better part of the next two days listening to and reading the comments from the networks and social media to be sure what I said wouldn’t be redundant or, worse yet, derivative. (Trevor Noah did a show this week that sounded like Jon Oliver…kind of a Michelle/Melania thing, and that’s not good.) Plus, I was concerned that the more politically correct of my readers (I like that, too) would think I was being flippant if I suggested that the Trump campaign change its theme song to “I Kissed a Girl—and She Didn’t Like It.”
But by Sunday evening, Trump had gathered the Clinton Accusers for a press conference and invited them to the debate. Holy Cow! That’s what I’ll write about. Surely this political spectacle would provide more than enough to get my “500ish” words in a column. The optics were made by television and for television: Two family boxes, a gallery section for the accusers, Judge Judy split into two moderators, and a jury of 40 undecided voters (don’t get me started on undecided voters). The opportunity for Jerry Springer crazy to break out was palpable. (Please note: I am passing on a pretty good line right now because I do not want to be scolded by friends saying there’s nothing funny about sexual assault. Which, to be candid, is why I having second thoughts about writing about the blasted bus tape in the first place.)
Then, with Trump endorsements being withdrawn by Republicans seeking political cover, yet another possible subject for this week’s column surfaced. Calling it “Profiles in Cowardice” seemed good. After all, rats leaving a sinking ship are not courageous; they’re just rats. Cue up Tanya Tucker singing “It’s a little too late to do the right thing now.”
Hillary Clinton told a reporter this week, “I’m the last thing standing between you and the apocalypse.” When I told Karl that, he asked if she was joking. I don’t think so—she’s been holding onto that dream for too many years to start joking about it now. And it’s a big dream. And while I hesitate to make the reference, she has achieved the victory of Mr. Williams’ cat. Who else but Hillary would have the stamina (yes, I said stamina) to stay on this particular hot tin roof for all these years?
Karl didn’t like my original idea for a title for this week’s column. He thought it was too vulgar. I was wrong, and he was right. And now he has it writing. I compromised, and so the title starts with “Kitty Cat” instead.
And, that is enough of the pussyfooting around for this week, as Kellyanne Conway might say.