It started with a Facebook post
from my friend Lauryl Wagoner.
#MyNextPresident has had
blood-stained underwear.”
It’s
seemingly a throwaway line, but when I reflected on it for a moment, I found
that it just about knocked me over. No other president has experienced a
menstrual period, month in, month out, sometimes frighteningly late, and
sometimes, near the end, wildly sporadic.
And there
is so much more that no president has
ever experienced. This realization is not, actually, a partisan moment; it’s a deeply human one. We’re all along for the ride at this important—and ridiculously tardy—moment in history.
At any rate, I started a thread and encouraged my friends to join in. My
first offering:
#MyNextPresident has peeled her shin like a carrot while shaving her legs.
Barack hasn’t. Three different Georges didn’t. No Abe, no
Bill. Hillary alone has pulled skin from her Daisy—just like me.
Look, I
know it’s pretty personal and not necessarily appropriate to think about a
candidate in such a personal way. But I feel a personal connection with Hillary
Rodham Clinton. I suspect a lot of people who identify as a woman feel the
exact same way.
So far, a
Facebook post and a Twitter hashtag have resulted in very little trolling, but
I expect it eventually. Some people don’t value women; some of those people are
women. But I feel exuberant that the person I believe will win in November is
someone who has fretted over things her body does, and has been sized up as a
mom, and has worked to look something like society says she should look. And
she’s taken some licks for it—the headbands, the pantsuits—even more than the
rest of us.
Pardon me
if I embrace and revel in sisterhood, even if it’s imagined sisterhood.
Some more observations:
#MyNextPresident has bought something she didn't need so she wouldn't seem like she was on a tampon run.
#MyNextPresident has ripped out a small clump of lashes because she got in a
hurry with her eyelash curler.
As a child, #MyNextPresident briefly experimented with dotting her I's with a heart, then
quickly came to her senses.
#MyNextPresident has taken store-bought cookies to the bake sale, but in her
defense, they were really nice cookies.
#MyNextPresident has perfected the art of removing her bra through her sleeve at
the end of the day.
#MyNextPresident has gone to an event too dressy or too casual while Bill got
away with wearing the same damned suit.
MyNextPresident has been badgered into attending a Pampered
Chef/Tupperware/Decorama/lingerie party and bought the smallest thing.
Someone has had the
nerve to tell #MyNextPresident she should smile more. She just looks so pretty when she smiles
...
A few hundred posts later, my friends and even
strangers have contributed their own. A few of my favorites:
Karin Wraley Barbee:
#MyNextPresident has handed a rolled up
ball of toilet paper to the stranded woman in the next stall.
#MyNextPresident popped open a can/egg of
L'eggs pantyhose and very carefully pulled them over her toes, calves, and
lower thighs before realizing there was no way those things were making it all
the way up.
Dawn Hubbell-Staeble:
Christina Burgy Fisanick Greer:
Heidi Czerwiec:
Kelly Morse:
#MyNextPresident wanted to show what she was capable of, but
instead was tasked with organizing the annual Easter egg hunt.
I have absolutely loved watching tweets come in at #MyNextPresident. Join us?
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