When I got this week’s issue of the New Yorker in the mail yesterday I was really struck by the cover.  It’s a really simple illustration of the big, green lawn in front of the white house, with a little black and white puppy sitting right smack in the middle of it.  Bo Obama!  At first I wasn’t sure why I loved it so much or why it gave me such a deep sense of calm happiness.  Then, when I was just peeing (Thursday morning overshare!), I realized that it’s not just because I love puppies. (Though I do.  Deeply.) It’s because when Obama was elected and he gave that speech on election night and he said his daughters would be getting a well-deserved puppy to take with them to the white house it made him seem, to me, like a regular dad.  He’s been working really hard lately and he hasn’t seen his family much.  Work is crazy right now.  Dad has to fix a global recession, reverse global warming, and finish two wars.  And his daughters have been really well-behaved.  So they’re getting a puppy.  Because even when everything sucks, there are still puppies in the white house and a kitty at my apartment and babies in bellies and tulips outside.

In other news MY PERIOD WILL NOT END.  (This post had such potential to be nice and then I just went ahead and ruined it.  Seriously though.  Enough already, period.)


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