It's All Over But For The Hat

Well. Here we are.

 

History has been written. Republicans have betrayed justice, betrayed truth and betrayed the Constitution. 

 

When the House voted to impeach, I posted an old joke on FB about a grandma who takes her grandson to the beach and he is swept away by a wave. The grandma pleads with God to return the child to safety.

She says, "Please God, I will never ask for anything else. This is all I want - my baby grandson to be safe. Please, I'll never ask for anything more!"

A big wave returns the child to shore, safe and happy.

The grandma hugs and kisses the boy and then looks into the Heavens and speaks to God.

"Thank you, God. How can I ever thank you--oh, wait. He had a hat."

 

Yeah, that. 

 

All I wanted, I said, was that history would record the travesty that is the Trump administration. Even though I knew the Republicans would never vote to impeach. Or allow witnesses. Or pay attention to what the managers were saying. Or not sneak in their phones, or eat or chat with each other. I knew that justice would not prevail but that didn't matter, I said; all I wanted was to get it on record that Trump is a criminal and his cronies are dirty.

 

And now, it's on the record. I'm thankful for that.

 

(Beat)

 

But wait, God. He had a hat.

 

Turns out, I want more. I want a Senate vote for impeachment.

 

I cannot believe that at age sixty-five I still secretly hope the good guys win. How embarrassing for me. You'd think I'd have aged out of that kind of magical thinking by now. Evidently the dark cloak of cynicism I wear has fairy dust and pink tulle sewn into the lining.

 

Hope and optimism don't fit well on me. I'm big boned. I prefer the comfortable elastic waist of unmeasured snark. 

 

But despite my best efforts to the contrary, I still harbored hope for our country. When Jerry and Val spoke, I felt strong. When Sylvia spoke, I felt heard. And Zoe - oh, Zoe Lofgren, her name alone is a fluffy blanket, a cup of tomato soup and two Xanax - Zoe made me feel we're in good hands.

 

And when Adam Schiff took the mic? My God. I had to change my underpants. Truth to power is hot.

 

Those Democratic impeachment managers brought intelligence, reason and strength. There were some really great moments of good and light. 

 

I will most likely survive this, even if - Heaven forbid, spit three times and spin to the East - Trump wins the next election. I'm not as vulnerable as many in this country which is why I will scream loudly and point fingers. Lucy Van Pelt is going to be my spirit animal. 

 

So.

A fresh pair of Dr. Scholl's gel pads for the marching, new glitter pens for writing postcards to Virginia, and a double refill of Prozac. The Resistance is regrouping.

 

We leave at the crack of noon.

Bring a hat.