Photo credit: Solomon, my friend’s 10 year old son. I love the kid’s vantage point.
Last week I was relaxing and watching Lance Armstrong confess to Oprah, when suddenly I got an email from my children’s biological father. You know, Husbandrinka. I’m trying out some new nicknames for him.
He mentioned that a friend of ours “got two more tickets to the Inauguration ceremony (outdoors) and the main ball Monday evening. Warning, the ball has 25,000 people. He’s inviting us. As a practical matter we’d have to drive to DC Sunday evening and drive back Tuesday morning.” He asked if I were game.
Shall we go over all the things that are wrong with this plan?
First of all, like any moron knows, The Bachelor is on Monday night, and there is no mention that it’s going to be streamed into the ballroom. I mean, the Inauguration happens every four years, but The Bachelor is only on Mondays, so you tell me how that’s not an open and shut case?!
Second of all, a ball? A BALL? I have neither a gown nor a fairy godmother, so according to the Gospel of Brothers Grimm, I’m screwed.
Third of all, 25,000 people. That seems like a lot. What if I hate them all?
Fourth of all, the whole outside thing. That sounds very brrrr-y.
Oh, and the whole I’ma mom and have to take care of the kids thing. So, I’m not going. But Husbandrinka is. Because it has always been his “dream” to go to an Inauguration. Without me, apparently.