It’s been a tough few months. Every day, America bums me out more and more, and none of my usual activities bring me joy. At this point, I just need to be held tightly by someone who can make all of my troubles melt away. You know, like a strong, intelligent, sensitive former president with a lot of newfound free time on his big, strong, presidential hands. Which is why I now dress and act like a baby – so if I ever run into Barack Obama at an airport, or in the Mediterranean, or outside my office, he can pick me up, and it won’t be weird. Like, have you seen that man hold a baby? He is a magician, and I really need some of that magic right now. But, like, not in a way that should make anyone feel uncomfortable. Just in a cute baby way!
These days, I spend a lot of my time figuring out where I might be most likely to run into President Obama on any given day, putting on my finest dinosaur footie pajamas, and then asking a friend to wheel me there in my stroller, binky in hand. This way, if and when Barry and I cross paths, he’ll be able to scoop me up into his arms and lightly rock me back and forth until I stop crying without everyone making it into a whole big thing. Like, I’m a baby now, so it’s totally chill.
Of course, transforming into a 35-year-old toddler in order to feel the sweet embrace of America’s 44th president has definitely affected my relationships. A lot of my friends will say things like, “Clara, this makes no sense. President Obama will know you’re not a baby” and “Wait, are you wearing a diaper?” To which I respond, “DADA PICK UP” while pointing at a picture of Barry O and raising my arms in the air. And Barack, if you’re reading, this is all super kosher because I may have the body of a grown woman, but I’m actually a tiny tot.
In any case, the social isolation is totally worth it for that moment when Barack finally spots me in a crowd of grownups and says, “Let me see that baby!” He’ll lift me up and bop me on the nose and give me one of those big, close-up smiles he reserves for teeny tiny babies, and I’ll finally feel better. And this will all be totally ok and not weird because, like I said, I’m an infant now and the president is for sure allowed to Eskimo kiss a baby, okay?!
As of today, I haven’t met President Obama yet. But one day I will! And when I meet him, I’ll look straight into his eyes, giggle, and then spit up on his shirt, which he’ll make a hilarious joke about and people will remember as a testament to his warmth forever and ever. Goo goo ga ga!
