I Promise Not to Tell You All of My Dreams

I had this weird dream last night that Joe Biden was visiting my parents’ house. I had this great question for him — “Can you tell me why there seems to be so little pragmatism on Capitol Hill?” — but before I could ask it, I spilled something in the powder room (potpurri? not sure.  I seemed to find bits of gooey mess that I had nothing to do with making, but the point is that both my father and his wife, are certifiably fastidious, so I was freaking out) and ended up spending the rest of his visit in there cleaning it up.

I could have been a contender. I could have been somebody. Instead of a clutz. Which is what I am.

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