Run (from the) DNC

The other night, I was rushing to get my teeth brushed and face washed before getting on the road to work when Jason walked into the bedroom and stood outside the bathroom door.

"There's a phone call for you," he said.

"Who is it?" I asked, my face buried in the towel.

"The DNC."

"The WHO?"

"The Democrats."

"I sent them their money!

Now, people who know me, know I get, uh, um, what's the nice word for I have a big mouth and a tendency to dramatics?

Needless to say, my "I sent them their money" came out like I was afraid Vito and Tony were on the way to break my kneecaps or something. A pure jest, some verbal silliness to amuse my beloved.

Who, as I saw when I turned, was holding the phone out to me, allowing the DNC to listen in.

Uh, just kidding Mr. President, just kidding. Thanks for the White House postcard. I keep it on the fridge (except when having workmen to the house because I'm afraid they will sabotage something or overcharge me, I mean, I do reside within the borders of the insane asylum that is South Carolina).

Thor sez: I got your back.