MITT ROMNEY THINKS I SHOULD GET IN THE KITCHEN AND MAKE HIM SOME PIE

 Now, lots of people were irked about the binders.  Personally, at 5’10, I’m a little too big to fit in one myself.   I think I’d be uncomfortable. 

But, it was really noble of him though, wasn’t it?  To go on that quest and turn every stone.

He had a hunch there were women out there who were good for something.   

And gosh, darn it, he would find them.  (He needed some tokens for his cabinet, after all.)

Mitt worked really hard at it.   [It is just SUPER DIFFICULT to find talented, educated women in this day and age.   Never mind that women represent half of the population, GOOD, USEFUL women are just so RARE.  Smart women are such abnormalities -- like white tigers or barbary deer.  And they are evasive, jittery, hard to track.  You need a knowledgeable guide and a pith helmet. ]

But Mitt persevered - as only a true warrior could. 

And to his incredulity, he found LOTS of qualified ladies.  Who knew?

 Forget mounting the heads of these trophies on the wall, he put them into binders.  Maybe he even hired a couple.

Thanks Mitt.  It was so big of you.  We are so sorry you went to so much trouble for little old us.

You are our hero. 

What chivalry!

But, there was that other thing he said.  Something the media seems to be ignoring.   

Mitt Romney said I need to go home and make dinner.

Now, it’s not that I don’t know how. I’m a rather good cook, if I do say so myself.  I have lots of friends and a well-nourished boyfriend who I think would back me up here. I can blacken, blanche, baste, bake and boil.  I can also grill, sauté, flambé, roast, and poach.  I can season, marinade, dice, slice and chop. 

It’s just that as a woman who’s been practicing law for over a decade in Washington, DC, I rarely even make dinner for myself.

Apparently, I’ve been neglecting my womanly duties.   Dang. 

Mitt thinks I need to get back in the kitchen.  And as President he’ll help me get there.  He even says I can go home early to cook. 

Thanks MItt.   

I’m sure he wants to do the same thing for each of my three sisters.  And not just us lawyers, the doctors too.

Who cares if someone is dying? What about the pot roast? 

We’ve got more important things to do.

A seizure?  Surely, there is a guy around to take care of that?  It’s getting late. 

The men folk are hungry. 

That guy who was fired without cause after 30 years by a racist boss and will lose his retirement, surely a male lawyer can handle that.   The emergency motions?  Forget about them.

I need to go feed the kids.  (Oops, something else I’ve been neglecting to do.  Dang again.  I forgot to breed. What was I thinking?  What kind of a girl am I?  The good news is, if Mr. Romney has his way, gets rid of Planned Parenthood, I should get knocked up in no time.  And no changing my mind about it either. I mean, who cares what I want anyway.)

What I really need to do is put down the pen, the brief case, go home and leave the every thing to the big boys. Aren’t I just so cute?

  

What’s for dinner?