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POTUS comes to the door
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Sometimes a girl just can’t catch a break! If it ain’t the Mormons rappin’ on the door, it’s Jesus. If it ain’t Jesus, it’s the Jehovahs. If it ain’t the Jehovahs, it’s the magazine sellers. If it ain’t them, it’s you-know-who.

That’s right, it’s Barry.

Some folks kiss the cuff of his pants, some folks hail the conquering hero. I just take him with a grain of salt like I do every other celeb whose face pops up in the news.

I was busy cleaning up my tiny little house, forcing dust bunnies into the dust pan, when I heard the doorbell ring.

Ten o’clock in the morning. Now who is it?

I opened the little peephole door that is a precursor to the peephole button and saw POTUS standing there.

"Whaddya want? Selling Girl Scout cookies or somethin’?" I asked him.

He gave me that all too familiar big grin and laughed.

"No, no ... just came to have a chat, that’s all. Do you have time?"

"No, but come in anyway."

I opened the door and Barry stepped in.

"Take your shoes off. If Jesus has to take off his dust traps, so do you. Off!"

He slid out of his shoes and I showed him to the little loveseat.

"Care for a cup of coffee? Or something stronger?"

He eyeballed me for a second and said, "Coffee. With Bailey’s."

"You want my version or the restaurant version?"

"Gimme yours."

POTUS asks, POTUS gets.

I made a coffee for myself, too, and took off my apron.

I brought the drinks out and handed him his, then sat on the chair facing him across the room.

"OK. So tell me, what brings you to this sleepy little town ... and my house in particular?"

He leaned back and took a sip of coffee, his eyes popping out from the recipe I use.

"Is there any coffee in this?" he asked.

"Jest a tetch...," I said, indicating a tiny amount with my thumb and forefinger.

"Whoo! It’s powerful!" he said, taking another sip.

"You really ought to have one every morning to kick start your day," I advised.

"Not if Michelle’s around...she doesn’t put up with it," he responded, taking another big sip.

"OK, so she’s a bossy boots. Tell me why you’re here."

He hesitated, took a deep breath and then cocked his head funny at me and said, "I need to know why you don’t like me and how I can change that."

My turn to laugh.

"Seriously, Barry...why do you care?"

"Well, I’ve got some problems with my time in office and I’m finding that I’m not doing a whole lot to win over the ladies ... I know the reports all say differently but ... Romney’s got the look. I mean, you want Wonder Bread, he totally smacks it down! What have I got? I sang a few notes of Al Green, I can ‘preach it’ when called upon to do so, but ... I’m missin’ something in my game, lady ... what can I do?"

Oh lawsy ... here I was with the opportunity of a lifetime. I get to tell The Prez what the true dealio is, and do I wanna go with both barrels or soft soap it?

I decided to play it easy on him. After all, I knew that what was left of the Secret Service was standing around outside my little abode in case I took a nutty, then they could swoop in and get him out.

"First of all, fess up and tell me what happened to all the TARP money. We wanna know who got what and why there seems to be no big repayment on it. Also, I don’t believe the story on Osama bin Laden, but that’s just me. And what is the deal with the health care bill? Over 2,000 pages? You cannot be serious! And you have to stop whining about a level playing field. It can’t work, it won’t work. You need to stop listening to those whack advisors of yours, because it’s all well and good for them to dictate what the American public has to do, but for some reason, you guys up there on the Hill don’t feel as you have to be subjected to the same standards. That is not a level playing field, my friend.

"If the good Lord had intended for us all to be on the same level playing field, we would be. But we’re all here for different reasons and it’s not up to you guys to change that. Leave it alone. There’s more, but I think that’s enough for now."

He ran his hand through the last bit of hair he had left on his head.

"Well, I probably won’t change anything that I’ve already done. Would it help if I made a 4-day workweek mandatory?"

"Wouldn’t hurt!"

"Maybe made it illegal to send work offshore that Americans can do?"

"Mmmm ... that’s a possibility but you might upset a lot of businesses. However, if it opened up more jobs here...then that’s a good thing."

He nodded, sipping from his cup.

"I wonder," he said, "what would Jesus do...?"

I started laughing.

"Oh no! Don’t even go there! You are not gonna get away with that. You cannot pull a good Christian act on me. It will not work!"

He gave me that big grin and ducked his head, laughing.

"By the way, what does he look like?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes and said, "Don’t you know? Well, stick around a little while. He’s about due for another visit."

"Mind if I have a little more of this?" he said, holding out his cup and tapping it.

"Better get used to do that, if you aren’t careful, you’ll be out of a job soon," I said, pointing at him tapping, "Might be wise to invest in some dark sunglasses and a cardboard sign."

"Ha ha. Very funny. Give Jesus a call. Tell him we’re having a party over here!"

 "You better give Jesus a call, might be good for you to make up for lost time."

"Got any cheese and crackers?" he asked, trying to evade the issue.

"You and Jesus ... what’s with the cheese and crackers? You keep up what you’re doing, that’s all any of us will be eating!"

He laughed again and got up to tell the guys outside that he was gonna be awhile.


As long as he was gonna hang out, he was gonna finish sweeping my floors.

Might as well get some good use out of him...