38 Days Until Sanity Comes Back

Just 38 short short days until election day is all I have to get through until my husband is no longer an over-worked maniac. I'm excited for November 7th. He'll regain his sense of empathy, remember where his wet towel goes, and stop leaving balled up black socks around the house so they don't end up as dog toys. He also has election tunnel vision and I get things in the mail (yesterday) like two month old parking tickets that now cost double. . .

If I sent him to the store for a box of tampons right now, he'd probably come home with a Swiffer WetJet and some adult diapers.

Every year, as soon as Labor Day hits, he goes crazy until November. We can barely have a conversation without it turning into what I think of a new negative ad campaign, or whether the latest polling data from an agency that has been wrong 42 times should be considered valid. I try to make him feel better by offering to go to my psychic advisor for input on who will win, but he doesn't seem to want that. I'm fresh out of ideas because that was my ace in the hole.

I try to lighten the mood with practical jokes - like calling him about the used car I just bought and telling him the engine fell out on the highway. Hah. Good one, right?

We have never celebrated the High Holidays together because they always fall in the Labor Day-November insanity period and when it's election time, even God has to wait until the polls close. It's a good thing I don't believe in magic books. I'm too reasonable for that and I draw the line at horoscopes and psychics.

Usually, at the end of an election cycle, my very grateful husband lets me make a few demands in return for all of my extra support. Since I suffered through a primary and then another out-of-state move back to back, I'm asking for something really big this time. This cycle, I'm asking that we don't move again. It could be a new year's miracle! Happy 5775!

Also, I've apparently put on weight because we saw my grandmother last weekend and after she groped my stomach for a few minutes, she demanded to know whether my dress was a maternity outfit. It wasn't. If you're fat and you've ever experienced this nonsense, you can make an inspirational UPWORTHY video and I will watch it and commiserate.

One more thing: