It’s not like fundraising emails are never creepy. No one wants to have dinner with Donald Trump or admit to themselves that they’re truly and inexplicably scared by the outside prospect of Nancy Pelosi disrobing on a whim. Neither of those should or will happen, even in a cruel world.
But, apparently, bolstered by LeBron James’ impressive on-camera performance of “I have a cramp,” the President and his wife have seen fit to exaggerate the incredible early-marriage accomplishments of one Barack Obama, who once dug a car out of the Chicago snow so his wife could go to work without her having to beat him about the head as per usual or something.
For the first 10 years of our marriage, Barack and I lived in an apartment in my hometown of Chicago.
The winters there can be pretty harsh, but no matter how snowy or icy it got, Barack would head out into the cold — shovel in hand — to dig my car out before I went to work.
In all our years of marriage, he’s always looked out for me. Now, I see that same commitment every day to you and to this country.
I know what you’re thinking. What in the f*** kind of jobs did they have that they could afford a parking spot in Chicago that wasn’t in a garage wasn’t ground zero for the drug trade? And why couldn’t they pay a homeless person to sweep off the car?
Unless “shoveling snow” is a metaphor.
Earlier this week, we were all supposed to sign a Father’s Day card for him, and now we’re supposed to pretend that he’s also our husband. Because, if there’s any reliable force in this world to get to do things for you without expectations, it’s definitely a husband. Well, maybe not my husband. But definitely the archetypical husband that third wave feminism led me to believe was marrying me to steal my youth and shackle me to a washing machine.
Actually, I do sort of wish he was my husband, not because I have inappropriate shower fantasies about a man who wears Mom jeans and rides girls bikes, but because Michelle gets a hell of a lot of expensive clothes and vacations. I don’t any of that sh*t. I get a $20 Target dress and a trip to Hawaii when a relative dies. And America gets a can of hobo beans and a pair of ripped Levis.
But none of that is really dispelling how creepy this is. So gross. Ugh. Gross.