He's gone!
One of our friends hosted a little post-inauguration celebration last night. There was plenty of food and drinks and lively conversation. Skiver even brought a bottle of some very tasty champagne for toasting. Once all our glasses were filled, we stood around for a second, trying to decide what to toast to. I suggested “He’s gone!” Everyone agreed enthusiastically. Then we clinked glasses and downed the bubbly and continued on with the critiquing of the inaugural fashion, which is really the best part of the whole thing.
I was a bit disappointed when we first arrived at the festivities, because I forgot to bring the George Bush action figure that I got Slag for Christmas two or three years ago. I figured George would be a fun party toy, especially after a few bottles of wine.
The action figure normally resides on our mantel, bent over, with its pants pulled down, thusly:
For a long time the lady who cleans our house would pull up his pants and sit him upright as part of her “tidying of the living room” routine, but lately she’s taken to joining in the fun and doing something amusing with him. Most recently she’s been sitting him in the lap of my Princess Lea sock monkey. But that’s a story for another post.
Anywho, on election day Slag and I decided that we would retire George on inauguration day. The joke has run its course. Oh, we’ll keep him around for the sake of posterity, but the sight of Ken-doll-smooth flesh-colored plastic buttocks has grown a little tiresome. Also, we don't want to appear to be rabidly psychotic, like the people who still haven't recovered from Clinton's presidency. Plus George's butt doesn’t really go with the rest of the décor.
So long, George!
I was a bit disappointed when we first arrived at the festivities, because I forgot to bring the George Bush action figure that I got Slag for Christmas two or three years ago. I figured George would be a fun party toy, especially after a few bottles of wine.
The action figure normally resides on our mantel, bent over, with its pants pulled down, thusly:
For a long time the lady who cleans our house would pull up his pants and sit him upright as part of her “tidying of the living room” routine, but lately she’s taken to joining in the fun and doing something amusing with him. Most recently she’s been sitting him in the lap of my Princess Lea sock monkey. But that’s a story for another post.
Anywho, on election day Slag and I decided that we would retire George on inauguration day. The joke has run its course. Oh, we’ll keep him around for the sake of posterity, but the sight of Ken-doll-smooth flesh-colored plastic buttocks has grown a little tiresome. Also, we don't want to appear to be rabidly psychotic, like the people who still haven't recovered from Clinton's presidency. Plus George's butt doesn’t really go with the rest of the décor.
So long, George!
posted by Jill at 2:39 PM
4 Comments:
Honestly, I think Dubbya's leaving is the best part of this whole inauguration.
You just want an excuse to get an Obama doll and look at HIS taut buttocks for the next four (EIGHT) years.
wait. wait. you have a cleaning lady?! really? shoooot. i want a cleaning lady. do you have to pay her and crap?
yes, i got totally distracted.
Jazz, Amen sister!
Jocelyn, Yeah, maybe the Obama action figure needs to take off his shirt and sit on the mantle. Yes, yes.
Kara, Yeah, she only comes once every two weeks and she doesn't do any of the serious cleaning. She keeps the place liveable. I don't know why I feel so weird about even mentioning it, like we think we're too good to clean our own toilets or something. We're not. It was more of a compromise. When Slag finished building his pottery studio he wanted to spend every weekend minute out there, which I totally understand. Except I was getting pissy because we both worked all week and he spent the weekend doing something he loved, while I spent the weekend cleaning the house. I think you can see the problem with that scenario. Anyway, yes, you do have to pay her. I know, buzz kill.
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