Watching the political duel that was the second presidential debate, I couldn’t believe the amount of testosterone on display. The president, usually so suave and unflappable, came off as a vindictive bully. Gov. Romney, abandoning his gosh-golly-darn colloquialisms, prowled the stage like a veteran combatant ready to wrestle the POTUS to the mat.
Really, boys.
According to pundits, these two alpha males are duking it out in hopes of wooing me–me!–to vote for them. Now that it’s election season I’ve become that most elusive of creatures, an undecided female voter.
A registered Republican who has often voted for a Democrat in presidential elections, I’m still waiting to be convinced that either of these well-educated, sophisticated men has my best interest at heart. Both are dancing a complex two-step, trying to be so light of foot that they won’t stumble by letting someone pin them down on an issue. So I interpret their sleights and feints as best I can to figure out what they’ll do for me.
Small clues like tie colors–Romney in blue this time, Obama in red–do little to put me at ease. But last Tuesday the wives’ clothing worked its Legally Blonde magic. There they were, both dressed in Pepto pink, assuring me they’d each champion my cause with the next Commander-in-Chief. Michelle meant business in a fuchsia power suit by Michael Kors and Ann telegraphed a nuanced approachability in a textured raspberry sheath by Oscar de la Renta (rather than her go-to favorite Alfred Fiandaca). Maybe it was the unexpected turquoise glass beads and nails that swayed me, but I think Ann took this one.
So I get it. I’m an object of desire. Worth wooing. But tell me boys, come November 6th after I declare one of you the victor, will you still love me the morning (and the next four years) after?
