Dear Laura Bush,
You made it. It's over, finally. I can only imagine the relief you must feel as you stroll across the White House lawn and into the helicopter leaving the whole sorry eight years behind you.
I want you to know that I always rooted for you. You're funny. You really won me over when you joked openly about your husband's simple-mindedness at the White House Correspondents' Dinner a few years back. That performance did a great national service. It took the pressure off us having to keep pretending that George W. Bush was presidential material. If his wife had his number, we were free to laugh at the absurdity of our situation.
Now, I wish there was another opportunity for you to speak. It would help us flush out the toxins in our guts left by the war, economy and mean spiritedness of the last eight years.
Just between us girls, I think you married beneath you. It makes me feel bad to confess this, but I've felt a little sorry for you these past few years. You're smart. I've never met a librarian who wasn't. And you comport yourself like a person who knows and likes herself -- always an attractive quality in a person.
Calling for a new day is fine. The Obama Administration holds great promise and President Obama is right to move on. But I wonder how we'll shake it off as a people. How do we cleanse ourselves after all that we've witnessed: torture, corruption, profiteering from the war, rigging of elections, and the collapse of our economy? How do we expunge the residue of panic left in our blood streams from being trapped on a runaway bus with an incompetent driver? Do we just snap our fingers and move on?
You can help. Consider it one of your last acts. Maybe you have a joke or an anecdote about your husband that will lighten our load and help heal our wounds. Because for now, we're all just pretending like we feel no pain.