What a week! First of all, Harriet's gone! Yay! A big victory pour moi. They forced her out. Goodbye Harriet, good riddance to you and your royal blue suit! Now if only I could just get rid of that Karen. She left once, in 2002, and do you know what she said when she resigned? She said she needed to spend more time with her family. Was that a dig at me, Dear Diary? Of course it was. I didn't realize it at the time, but now I do. (Two years later, when Karen insisted on coming back, I was worried she would retake her place in the P.'s heart, so I suggested she go on a never-ending mission to make people in the Middle East love America. Ha ha ha ha ha.)
But what a week! We had lots and lots o'meetings. What should we do? Should we do less? Should we do more? Less? More? Less? More? No one knew. So this is a quagmire! You hear about quagmires but until you're in one you just have no idea! And here's the best thing about those meetings: no Laura. Ever since I accidentally called her husband "my husband," things have been a little bit sticky between me and Laura. A couple of months ago she was asked if she thought I should be President, and do you know what she said? She said: "Dr. Rice, who I think would be a really good candidate, is not interested. Probably because she is single, her parents are no longer living, she's an only child. You need a very supportive family and supportive friends to have this job." Was that a dig at me, Dear Diary? Of course it was. I didn't realize it at the time, but now I do.
But back to what I was saying: quelle semaine! The P. spoke in the library. It was so cute, him standing against the background of the books and stuff. Then, the very next day, I got to defend him. And it was hard, it was sooooo hard, but I did it! I saw myself on television later, and I was all hunched over like I expected everyone to hit me. And they did hit me. But I didn't care because I was defending the P. and his new policy, which I forgot to mention we finally decided on - the More option, not the Less option. When my testimony was over, all I could think was, I hope the P. was watching me. I hope he knows I'd do anything for him, absolutely anything, and that includes you know what. (I know he's never going to leave her, but a girl can't help hoping!)
Then I got back to the office afterwards, and there were all these messages from the White House. I was sure they were calling to tell me how much the P. loved my testimony. But it turned out he hadn't seen any of it - he'd spent the entire day on the treadmill watching the World Series of Poker on the Tivo.
But Tony Snow and Karl Rove had seen me, and they were calling to ask about what Barbara Boxer said to me at the hearing. I felt so dumb, Dear Diary. It turned out she had really insulted me, but I was so busy wrinkling my forehead I hadn't really clocked it. She'd been asking me about the war, and she'd said to me: "The issue is who pays the price? I'm not going to pay a personal price. My kids are too old and my grandchild is too young. You're not going to pay a particular price, as I understand it, with an immediate family. So who pays the price? The American military and their families."
Karl and Tony said: "How does that make you feel? Doesn't it make you feel terrible?"
"Not as terrible as Chuck Hagel made me feel," I said. "Chuck Hagel actually insulted our policy! He insulted the P.!"
"Never mind that," Karl Rove said. "Barbara Boxer insulted you."
"Not really," I said. "All she was saying was that the war was being conducted by people with nothing to lose."
But Karl and Tony disagreed. 'What's more," said Tony Snow, "it's a setback for feminism."
"Feminism?" I said. "Do we care about feminism?"
"We do," said Tony Snow. "Now we do."
"No one told me," I said.
I got so irritated I almost lost my temper. I mean, guys, just tell me what you what me to say and I'll say it! But I can't say it if you don't tell me!!!!!
The next day I told the New York Times that I'd been insulted by Barbara Boxer. I said it was a setback for feminism. "I thought it was okay to be single," I said. "I thought it was okay to not have children and I thought you could still make good decisions on behalf of the country if you were single and didn't have children."
I hope the P. sees what I said. I doubt if he will, though, because he doesn't read the papers. But still, I'm glad I struck back at that Senator Boxer. Was that a dig at me, Dear Diary? Of course it was. I didn't realize it at the time, but now I do.