Thank God I’m not running for President of the United States.
Besides the fact that running a campaign would seriously cut into my free time, I can’t imagine being scrutinized for every word, every nuance of every word, that comes out of my mouth.
And I especially can’t imagine not being allowed to tear up when I feel emotional.
You’ve probably heard by now of the big controversy over the fact that Hillary Clinton let a bit (just a smidgeon, really) of emotion creep into her voice during a recent news conference.
Now, I have no intention of debating the merits of Clinton vs Obama vs Edwards or whether Hillary letting her human side show was a calculated thing or whether it will help her or hurt her or even whether the whole controversy is sexist.
I just want to say that I if I were in her shoes, my response to every press query would be punctuated with copious, heaving sobs.
.
I tear up when I hear the national anthem. For any country. I cry when people win money, appliances even, on game shows. I am prone to weeping during long-distance phone commercials while, at the same time, loudly snarking about how manipulative and cheesy commercials are these days.
And that’s when I’m well rested.
If I get less than seven hours sleep more than a few night in a row (yes, I’m spoiled – Graham slept through the night at six weeks), I get all melancholy and teary and prone to humming spirituals…Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen, nobody knows my sorrows.
And if someone were to inadvertently say something that might possibly be interpreted as slightly critical when I’m in that stressed and/ or sleep-deprived state?
Let’s just say that the ensuing hysterics would be waaay more entertaining than the clip of Hillary making the rounds in which she purportedly loses it. (That’s a breakdown? Sheesh – talk about amateur hour!)
It’s genetic, this propensity to shed tears at the drop of the hat. My mother is exactly the same. If we happen to be watching television together and something the least bit heart-wrenching comes on, we first get all self-conscious and avoid looking at each other.
Finally one of us will cast a surreptitious glance at the other, our teary eyes will meet and we will exchange a guilty, silly little laugh. This laugh acknowledges our mutual weirdness and serves as a green light for no-holds-barred sobs which are usually punctuated by bursts of laughter at the absurdity of it all.
So yeah, I’m thinking it’s probably a good thing I’m not running for President of the United States. Even if I were better at holding my emotions in check, I’m not sure middle America is ready for that photo of me in a princess hat and a feather boa.
