Western Hemisphere
The President has a problem.
(Here’s an updated story I wrote for NPR’s Three Minute Fiction years ago. It didn’t win anything, of course, but I’ve always liked it, so, here it is.)
“Dear! Hey, Dear!”
“I’m right here, what’s all the hollering about?”
“Where’s my underwear? I can’t find any in this bag.”
“Here, let me take a look . . . nope, I don’t see any in there, either. Apparently, you did not pack enough for this trip. You know, the President does not have to pack his own suitcase. If you would let your staff do it, maybe you wouldn’t have this problem. You need to let people do their jobs.”
“Well, thanks for the lecture, but what am I going to do right now? Before, the fundraising speech at the Music Center, I have to get to that photo op with the Teamsters at the local Union hall, and I have to leave in about 2 minutes!”
“All right, calm down, calm down. You’d think the President of the United States would be a little more cool under pressure. It so happens that I have the solution to your problem right here.”
“Great, hand it over.”
“Not even a please?”
“Geez, hand it the hell over, please.”
“Okay, here you go.”
“. . . What is it!? An eyepatch!?”
“It’s a thong! And, it has the Presidential Seal on it! I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give it to you.”
“Well, this ain’t it. You can’t seriously think I would ever wear that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, it is waaaaay too small. Obviously. And, it is just not Presidential. I can’t wear something like that out in public.”
“Who’s going to know?”
“I’ll know! And, what if something happens to me and I —”
“Hey! Do Not Even Joke About That!”
“No, no, I didn’t mean That, I meant, okay, I’m going to this Union hall, and I’ll be walking around, shaking hands and talking to the guys and all that, and, you know, there will probably be lots of tools there, and sharp metal corners on work benches, and nails sticking out of the walls, and I could very easily catch the back of my pants on something and rip them wide open, and how awful it would be for the Leader of the Free World to be standing there with his Western Hemisphere hanging out.”
“Is this the way you are in Cabinet meetings? Maybe a picture of your round, finely toned hemisphere will get more people to vote for you.”
“I think the polls would show that people who would enjoy seeing some Presidential cheek, would vote for me anyway.”
“Look, you’ve got to get going. Just try it on.”
“Oh, all right. But, if this gets out, instead of First Lady, you’ll be our new Ambassador to Antarctica.”
“Yes, yes, whatever. It seems like you’re stalling. You really need to get it together.”
“I . . . ah . . . I really do not want to wear this.”
“You can be such a big baby sometimes. I’ll bet Putin doesn’t act like this. You’ve got two choices – you can wear this cute, sexy thing or you can go commando.”
“Oh for Pete’s sake, fine, just let me get my leg in here, and . . . I don’t . . . it doesn’t really . . .oh, wow . . . “
“Ooooo, Mr. President, you’re looking pretty hot! Except for your eyes bulging out a little.”
“It feels like I’m wearing a tourniquet on my nether regions.”
“Stop whining. Hurry up and finish getting dressed. Your Secret Services guys are going to be here any second. You know how cranky they get when they have to wait.”
“Okay, I’m about ready, I just need my shoes. Have you seen my shoes? Where are my shoes?”
“Over in the corner, right where you left them.”
“Oh, nevermind, I found them, they’re over in the corner right where I left them. I’ll slip ‘em on and I’ll be good to go. Good being a relative term.”
“Okay, give the Teamsters my love. I’ll meet you at the fundraiser. Don’t be late. Last time, your Treasury Secretary darn near talked my ear off. And, just for the record, there is no Ambassador to Antarctica.”
“There will be if I see my behind on the front page of The Post tomorrow. Bye, Dear. I love you. Even though you are kind of a pain in my, uh, hemisphere.”
“Bye, Dear, I love you, too.”
