Monday, April 17, 2017

April 17, 2017

Dear Diary,

Since nothing particularly exciting was happening on Easter sunday, Dr. Morell allowed me to watch a little television.  Usually, he lets me watch a few reruns of "Andy of Mayberry," but this time was different.  He excused himself for a few minutes and then came back into the room all hopped up and rubbing his nose and sniffing a lot.  He doesn't talk much, anyway, and this time he grabbed the remote and asked if we could watch something "from this century." I was fine with that.  You can only watch Barney Fife freaking out so many times, and last I heard, Opie is already eligible for Medicare.

Dr. Morell stopped on CNN, which I haven't watched since the you-know-what, and I have to say I was quite disturbed by what I saw and heard.  A bunch of people were marching and fighting about -- of all things -- making Carrot Head release his tax returns.  I watched with real interest, because I've always felt that the emperor queen chief executive should be totally transparent with the unwashed masses his subjects voters.

Whenever anyone asked Bill or me to show our tax returns, we always produced them.  Well, we showed them the ones they asked for. The personal returns.  We showed those to everyone.  They didn't ask to see the pizza franchise or the offshore Haiti thing, so we never had to show those. Phew!

Especially during these troubled times, when trust is low and technology can pretty much drive a stake through the heart of anyone's career, a public person has to been willing to show and tell everything, no matter how private or personal she thinks it might be.  For example, not many people know that I have a few festering hemorrhoids that come and go.  I can be just fine one day, and the very next, one easy wipe can produce a sticky, bloody mess.  It's disgusting, but if anyone ever asked me, it would be my duty to disclose it.

I just hope they wouldn't ask me about the smell, because that's really bad.

I'm much more open than Bill is about these things. Then again, we live in a totally different age now. When Bill was caught with his pants down under investigation almost impeached on national television, all he had to do was lie deny the allegations about that Monica girl and her tacky blue dress. Today, the video would be all over Snapchat before she even swallowed.

That could never happen to me, though.  I'm too honest. I'm too transparent.  Also, I'm too careful:  I always made it a point for Huma to hand over her cell phone first.

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