Put Some Gay In Your Day, Dallas!

Put The Blame On Mame

craig-headshotIt is with a heavy heart that it falls to me to explain why Hillary Clinton is not going to be the next President of the United States. You may have heard that it was because of a white backlash from working class voters. Or, she had the right numbers of votes but with the wrong geographic distribution to win the Electoral College. Or, the Democratic strategy was built on faulty pre-election polls, proven faulty by the exit polls. (Take a moment to let that sink in.) But as the President-Elect might say, I—and I alone—can tell you the real reason.

Growing up in East Texas, I was brought up with the idea that your actions and your words (not to mention any hint of boastful pride) could jinx your whole life or any part thereof—a concept that completely eludes many folks on Facebook. As a result, the devices needed to ward off the jinx were employed on an as-needed basis. Conversations would be peppered with “God willing” when discussing plans and “God forbid” when anticipating anything bad that might happen. Personally, I never killed a chicken, but I’ve been known to light a candle or two. And, I’ve knocked on my own head enough times to cause a concussion simply from the lack of finding any real wood around at a time when it was needed.

It’s a running joke at our house that a campaign yard sign is the kiss of death for a political candidate seeking office. There is one notable exception to this rule, and that candidate was an incumbent. An incumbent, I might add, who got to be an incumbent because we didn’t put up a yard sign for her the first time she ran.

Late last month, I was wondering how expensive hotel rooms would be in Washington for the inauguration, compared to the cost in Philadelphia for the Democratic National Convention. (For some unknown reason, the Republican National Convention would not even respond to our application for media credentials or answer our follow-up inquiries. Go figure.) Well, I decided that Karl and I should reserve a room with the idea of canceling the reservation if we decided not to go.

Turns out, we could get comparable rooms at two different hotels for the four nights we planned to stay in Washington. Both required a deposit equal to the cost of the entire stay. One provided a refund of the deposit on cancellation; one was completely non-refundable. But the refundable reservation was almost three times the cost of the non-refundable one.

I called Karl over and explained the dilemma to him. And, with an exasperated look, he declared, “You are so weird.” (Really? You’re just now figuring that out?) Turns out he was slightly more interested in going back to the Smithsonian’s Museum of Natural History than going to a handful of inaugural balls. When I said that Trump might actually win (in which case there would be no balls for us), he said, “If Washington is full of Trump supporting climate change deniers, there won’t be anybody at the museum.” (See why I love this man.)

So, we went with the non-refundable hotel reservation. I clicked on the last button, and that’s when Hillary Clinton lost the White House. Put the blame on Mame, boys. Put the blame on Mame.

And now you know why we’re not getting the first woman President next year. Plus you know why I’ll be in Washington for the inauguration. God willing.