Did Susan have the hots for Millard Fillmore?
It happens every election cycle: some candidate, for whatever reason, becomes the darling of the girlie establishment, winning hearts and votes based upon the estrogen-soaked fantasies of a few ladies who suck all the intelligence right out of the room.
The latest – and not the last in this long election year, I’m sure – is the woman who called Sean Hannity last week, breathlessly extolling her support for Mitt Romney because “he looks like the kind of guy who would rub my feet.”
Now I’m not without some semblance of humor; her little servile image is cute for about two seconds. She could have had her fun and then bolstered her reasoning with facts that demonstrate she has at least two IQ points to rub together. But noooooooooooo, the giggly caller went on to explain that because she can imagine Romney rubbing her feet, he’s the kind of guy who “is all about service, and that she can’t imagine Newt Gingrich rubbing her feet” (ergo, he should not be president, obviously).
As I listened to the caller’s dizzying intellectual analysis, I almost wrecked the car because I then imagined Newt Gingrich rubbing my feet (no offense to Callista, but, YUCK) and then an image flashed of Santorum (which kind of reminded me of high school) and then a nauseating hypothetical interlude with Ron Paul, kak! peh peh! Make it stop!
The images this woman bored into my brain with her stupid analogy will surely take several election cycles to forget. And while there’s no end to the horrors playing out in my head and I’ll probably have a PTSD flashback the next time I get a pedicure, it’s true that some women do indeed get this groupie mentality about candidates. They have ever since Kennedy came onto the scene, and perhaps even before that.
Those JFK groupies no doubt wiled away many hours just wishing they were Jackie with her cute pill-box hat and her VIP spot next to “Jack” every night (except for those nights when he was with someone else). Back then, of course, they were probably wishing they could rub Jack’s feet and not the other way around. And just as likely, no one was dreaming of rubbing Richard Nixon’s feet during his less-than-flattering debate against Kennedy, and so goes the election.
Back when Al Gore ran for president, I remember a girl in my office running around swooning and saying, “Al Gore-geous!” (which made me want to hack up something equivalent to a hairball). No doubt Bill Clinton wooed millions of female admirers when he played saxophone on the ultra-hip Arsenio Hall Show, and bada-boom-bada-bing – a few years later everyone wanted a “Lewinsky” at the office.