Every day, a hair turns white on my thinning pate...

 

...over this damned election.  Like the cartoon, you think you have made it through the day only to find out that dog has prepared a gourmet dinner, but is still using water from the toilet. 

You have to wonder IF this nightmare we are living is heading toward the proverbial morning after (I mean, there's just got to be a morning after, right?) and yet I refuse to believe that the outcome is going to be good. 

When the husband cut my hair today the pile was white with worry.  If this goes on much further, I'll look like Albert Einstein before sixty. 

As my friend says - "45 is like herpes: You can't get rid of it and it ruins everything by popping up at the worst moments." 

And even if 45 loses, 45 is not going quietly.  And his cult members won't let him go quietly.  

"Just you wait and see," says one of the brainwashed cousins. Said cousin is recovering from COVID, was on a ventilator, no home and back on her three-pack-a-day Parliment "cig" regimen but she's not blaming the guy in the White House or his failed policies.  Nope.  She's blaming the "Chinamen who released it into the U.S."  She is also convinced that the Iranians started all the fires in California.  

"The Ayatollah sent his firebugs to burn up the country.  The only good thing is that this taking care of the Lib-tard filmmakers and stars and pedo perverts." 

Well, she never was the brightest lightbulbs in the box.

"Any of those BLM riots comes to my trailer park and I'll be ready."  How do you tell someone who lives in a double-wide with one room devoted to Elvis Jim Beam liquor decanters that BLM doesn't want her mobile home?  And I don't think that "Hazy Acres" is place where anyone would like to riot as much as they aspire to par-tay with Lynyrd Skinnard. 

"As soon as I get my strength back up I am headed to the shooting range {cough, cough, wheeze, cough}."  

What about Biden? 

"He wants my home too for his socialist friends."

No.  Just no. Again, no one wants your 1972 Wanderlust two-bedroom mobile home with saggy floorboards.   

Anyway, so we are trying to avoid any news on election eve. 

Our plan was to make a comfort food dinner and then watch the final three episodes of Shetland season six.  Well, that isn't going to happen because last night there was NOTHING on TV, so we said we'd watch the fourth episode, and leave the other two for Tuesday. 

Wrong. 

This season's story on human traffickers is so compelling that we decided we had to see episode five, and that lead to the finale and well...

Let's just say Jimmy Perez needs another sweater. 

Back to the election. 

Our sister in law called to ask us if we were going to vote for "Kym Klacik" who is running against Kweisi Mfume for Maryland's 7th Congressional district.   First of all, Mfume is a giant in the pantheon of modern American leadership, so if we lived in that district we would vote for him.  But we don't, so we can't. 

Kim Klacik's credentials? In addition to not living in the district that she wants to represent - which is a huge no-no in my book - there is nothing there.  Yet as a Black Female, she is a darling of the Republican Party, a party that wants to convince itself that it's a big tent party.  But for the most part, she's just an operative.  Strip away the four-inch heels, dresses way to tight for her own circulatory good, and a 5,000 watt smile but there is nothing.   Looking good in a commercial is not a qualifier for a seat in Congress.  Being seen on TV is not a qualification for elected office - that's how we got 45. 

Klacik's goal is adoration, not public service. 

So our goal on Tuesday night may boil down to a game of Scrabble and chicken pot pies for dinner.  Or a Miss Fisher and maybe a Father Brown or two. 

As for election results, in the morning I'll have a cup of coffee before turning on the news.  

And if the news is good, I will drink my second cup of coffee from my "Hilary POTUS" coffee mug.