Meet The Candidates Then Rinse.

HOORAY FOR ME! I’m getting the chance to be a loving and supportive husband tonight. I’m going with my wife, the lovely and involved, Dawn, to a “Meet the Candidate Night” here in Terre Haute (That’s French for “Vote for me. I can smile.”)

My wife trusts me. She knows that I will behave myself in public and not truthfully answer any questions asked of me by the candidates.

We have gone to events like this before. I smile and I shake hands with people I wouldn’t ordinarily touch without wearing a Hazmat Suit. I quietly sip at my plastic cup of Diet Coke.

I’m a good husband.

It’s not that I prefer the candidates of one political party over another. I don’t. i think that they are all 

revolting. I am an Equal Opportunity Citizen.

A few years ago a chap I know, a fine family man and an all-around pleasant fellow, decided to run for office locally. He cornered me at a church picnic and started to give me his campaign spiel. I interrupted him and asked him if he knew the origin of the word “Politics.” He admitted that he did not. I educated him.

“It comes from two words in Ancient Greek: ‘Poly’ meaning ‘Many’ and ‘Tics’ meaning ‘Blood sucking parasites’.”

Without saying another word he turned and walked away. He won in the election and is now holding office.

I will go with my wife to this “Meet the Candidates” soiree. I will behave in a socially acceptable manner and I will try not to vomit.

We went to one of these events a couple of years ago and it was better than most. We got fed. Pf course, I also had to sit quietly and listen to a young man/candidate for something regale us all with a ten cent synopsis of his dream for the future of the state. The last time I heard plans similar to his they were coming out of the mouth of Mao Tse-Tung. The crowd loved him. I don’t think he won.

In a rather ironic way I am in favor of these events even though they are little more than intellectual septic tanks. The True Believers in attendance will vote for whoever provides the soft drinks and pasta. I always hold out hope that there may be one or two people who might listen critically and refuse to swallow what is being served up by a nice suit with a microphone. I always get the feeling that the candidates have our worst interests at heart.

“Meet the Candidates” indeed. The candidates are like pigeons. No matter how cute they may appear, and coo softly in your ego, they are all going to do the same thing on you in the end.

I’ll go to this event because I love my wife and she asked me. I will trim my beard so that I don’t look like I’ve been sleeping in the park for a week, and I will let Dawn make sure that my shirt is ironed. I’ll even put on my good boots.

I will smile and nod and politely refuse to sign anything. I can always claim that I am Canadian.

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