Shower Thoughts

or, Why I’m Still Mad At My Dead Husband

I’ve already voted. But Election Day has always been a big deal to me — was a big deal to us —such a big deal that I voted barely 48 hours after he’d died because I knew he’d kick my ass if I didn’t. And so of course I’m all fired up anyway this morning. And for some reason, I had a big mad on, too.

I stopped to ask myself why and realized that it was because I was thinking, more subconsciously than otherwise, the same thing I do every four years: “This is your fault!”

My late husband was almost exclusively a one-issue voter. He’d pull the metaphorical lever for whoever the NRA, of which he was a Life Member may G-d forgive him, told him to. Which usually meant a straight Republican ticket. I can count on less than one half of one hand the Democrats he ever voted for over the 41 years that I knew him.

I begged him. “You have to look at the person’s whole record, Honey, at their character,” I would say every time. I joke that I’m what the old folks used to call a Yellow Dog Democrat: I’d vote Dem in any race, no matter if they were only running an ol’ yeller dog. The other version of that is that a YDD would vote for an ol’ yeller dog over the best Republicans the Party could put up. “Vote for that guy because he’s a 2nd-Amendment nut and look at all the rest you’re getting!” But.

I held my nose and voted for Mr. Jimmy despite his anti-abortion stance because he was a man of such excellent character. He was steady…