Dearest C,

Not sure if you managed to catch the inaugural episode of Commander in Chief (the drama about the first female President of the United States) yesterday, but watching it has left me with a couple of troubling questions. To whit:

1) Why is it that tall people (like Geena Davis) are assumed to automatically possess authority and gravitas?  Since when does a few extra inches give you the right to rule the world (although it depends where those extra inches are, I suppose)?

2) Would our husbands really be content to play First Lady in our lives?  I know they both talk a good talk when it comes to the idea of us being the main breadwinner, but would they really be able to take to sit back and shut-up while we commandeer the ship of state?  All I can say is, when you’re married to a man who tries to instruct his wife on how to give birth, your first act as President might just be to have him shipped to Abu Garaib.

Still, it’s good to see that in spite of all that power, Geena Davis still has to suffer the trauma that haunts all working moms – namely, having her children get close enough to be able to spill juice all over her dry-clean only blouse.  Hopefully, in future episodes, the Secret Service will ensure that never happens again.

Faithfully,

P.

P,

Oh my petite little friend, please don’t let the ways of the real world interfere with your fantasy that a good pair of stilettos is all that keeps you from the arms of Brad Pitt.  I know your professed interest is in running the free world but your more compelling suburban survival dream involves little more than a few inches on your stunningly delicate frame to put you in the arms of the man who only has eyes for Angelina.

What you little people don’t fully understand is that although height is certainly an asset it can also leave you feeling less than able to play damsel in distress, a skill mightily necessary for avoiding almost any domestic or professional chore.  In addition, my dearest, when one is blessed with the facial bones of a forty year old matron at twelve, as I have been, there is an assumption of competence which cannot be escaped in almost any situation. 

As I approach the real 4-0 in the next SEVERAL years, I may finally come into my own, in full facial bloom, so to speak.  Now, when I hear "madam" repeatedly I won’t angrily respond that I am but a dewey maiden.  Instead I will happily comply with any request one has for a dowager like me and wait only for the inevitable shrinkage, and perhaps hump in my back, that will diminish my own stature.

The good news is that all those plump faced maidens mistaken for twenty when forty years of age are headed in my own disintegrating direction as well.  At seventy we should all be even and, at last, this shrewish hunched over hag will have the last laugh.

Oh, and I too would be thrilled if Hillary were elected President.  That was your main point, wasn’t it, my dearest Republican friend?

Faithfully,

C.