Private Affairs 

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“I am just like blushing, blushing, blushing, and he looks at me and he winks as he does and says, ‘I look pretty good, don’t I?’ ” —Ann Romney, telling Kelly Ripa in an ABC interview how she opened a door during a White House visit and discovered George W. Bush getting a massage.

How was I to know? If they don’t want you to open doors and walk right in while you are naked on a table with a real fit-looking and real tan masseuse working away, well, they should keep the doors locked, especially on a private hall and where was Laura, anyway, who the President, Bush I mean, calls “Bushie,” and she calls him “Bushie” back, eeeww! all of us at the dinner kind of cringed and laughed at the same time, and of course Mit(t) piped up and said how cute he thought the nicknames were and was about to tell everybody our private names for each other and for a minute I was absolutely terrified he might reveal our temple names except I don’t know his and he knows mine but before he had a chance I gave him a kick under the table and he laughed that laugh of his that used to drive me bananas but I guess everyone has to put up with these little things or else you would run screaming from the room every time you hear it like I expected Laura Bush to do after the President made another one of his endless corny jokes and shakes his shoulders and makes sniffing snuffling sounds I sometimes can’t believe he was elected President but I guess if you know someone real well like a wife does her husband but on the other hand I’ve never met a husband who has even a clue about what his wife is really like for instance Mit(t) never knew how much I liked horses until I begged him to buy me Trigger which he calls “Mr. Ed,” and sings that stupid TV song about a horse is a horse of course of course unless of course the horse of course is the famous Mr. Ed, and Mit(t) sings it everytime we go riding and then giggles like a maniac, which is a side of Mit(t) that those people who make fun of him never see even if he ever gets into the White House, which is why I was wandering the halls testing doors just to stake out the property when I walked in on the President with the very tan masseuse—if that is really what she is—rubbing away on the President’s butt and not only wasn’t he embarrassed he winked and said hello there sweetheart come on in and I just slammed the door and ran down the hall where Laura was showing Mit(t) the Lincoln Bedroom and just as I came in Mit(t) was asking Laura if it was true that Bill Clinton had a “make-out session” with Barbra Streisand talking like he was still at Cranbook and should I say something about seeing the President getting a massage and I figured it was none of my business but I even got uncomfortable when Mit(t) and that awful Mayor Sparky person used to sunbathe together on top of the Wells Fargo building during the Olympics but I never said a word because I know how much Mit(t) likes to have a nice tan but he didn’t listen to me about using the spray tan before he went on that Mexican TV show and he looked like Tonto or someone with shoe polish all over his forehead and speaking of getting tan I also got real mad because he told that Rippa gal that he was a Snooki fan and liked her spark plug personality and how tiny she had gotten—is he trying to send me a message about losing weight? but how can you stay thin with all those fundraisers, the chicken this the salmon that the boeuf bourguignon all the desserts chocolate raspberry custard cups even the fancy food in Boca Raton with the billionaires and running for president is not fair it’s just real hard even though I said yes to Mit(t) yes I want to you to be President not just of the one percent or the 47 percent but 100 percent yes and he said yes his heart was going like mad and he said mais oui! and I said lose the French just say yes

D.P. Sorensen writes a satire column for City Weekly.