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There's way too much pressure for her to become a politician's wife

Columnist Isabel Torrey laments how many changes she would have to make if her husband ever ran for office


While listening to and watching the candidates in the current political races, I’ve concluded what everyone knows, but few acknowledge: A trophy wife never hurt any male candidate. Want proof? Jackie Kennedy, Rosalynn Carter, Michelle Obama, on-and-on…

So I’ve decided if Lawrence ever seeks an office, you’ll find me dashing to one of those palatial places where they do Extreme Makeovers, banging the door, demanding “Let me in! NOW!” before he begins his run.

Why? Well, I can only imagine how cartoonists would so emphasize my facial wrinkles, that voters would tell each other, “Looks like that Torrey guy’s wife should screw her hat on!” And/or “Why is she wearing a HAT, for goodness sakes? Women wearing hats date back to the 1970s!”

(FYI, I wear a hat because I have horrible hair. That’s why.)

Of course, it’s possible to add enviable hair one way or another during my Extreme Makeover, but hair isn’t all I’d need. I’d also need a surgical tummy tuck. And a face and fanny lift. And a busma enhancement. (“Busma” is my little grandniece’s word for “bosom.”)

Plus a chic wardrobe with each item being one-of-a-kind because it’s politically un-chic to encounter another woman wearing a similar, or horrors, an identical outfit.

I’d also need lessons in political protocol, too. I’ve been around poultry all my life. I know how the “pecking order” works with chickens, but I’m plenty naïve how it works in human formalities where a candidate can sink-or-swim in the election pool.

My faux pas might upset diplomatic relations in the entire voting district if I seated certain diners in the wrong order

Speaking of diners, there’s the problem of always being in the public eye. It seems the absolute-worst spot to be scrutinized is at the speaker’s table at meal time, surrounded by a horde of photographers. What if a camera were trained on my face when my fork, filled with loose lettuce, only partially gets into my mouth, and the media uses that photo? That scene mentally surfaces whenever I hit the TV’s pause button and freeze the news anchor with his/her mouth open. Or in the middle of a word. Or a blink.

What does Michelle do if, hevvins forbid, she’s seated at the far end of the table and spots a piece of spaghetti on Barack’s chin and cannot nudge him to “use your napkin!” Or, with myriad silverware lining the sides and top of each plate, has she ever rolled her eyes and said, “That’s the wrong fork!”?

Yes, there’s more than mere issues to be considered when running for office, so when you cast your vote, rest assured neither my name, nor Lawrence’s, will be on any ballot you check and drop into the box.

I’m Isabel Torrey and I approve this message.

© Copyright 2014 by Isabel Torrey, a King City resident and long-time columnist

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