Enlightened electorate, my ass
At dinner last night Charlie asked me, "Mama, have you ever votened before?"
I assured him that I have votened whenever the opportunity has arisen. "In fact, your dad and I voted today," I said. (I did not mention the strange and horrifying moment at City Hall when I realized I'd parked Ben's stroller immediately under a poster advertising my state's safe haven program, and then walked away to get my ballot. A mere six feet away, in the same room with a clear line of sight, but still. My God.) "I voted for Barack Obama," I told him.
"That's who Zane votened for," he said darkly, furrowing his brow as he named an acquaintance of his, a child I find actively irritating, who has, according to Charlie, cordially offered on occasion "to poke my eyes out." ("I'm never coming to your house," the kid once told me in an aggressive attempt to hurt my feelings. "I don't recall inviting you," I answered blandly. In your face, anemic-looking three-year-old.)
"Who are you voting for?" I asked Charlie, charmed by this conversation.
He brightened immediately. "I'm voting for John," he said, "for pretsnitzet to be in charge of the whole world."
So I made him go stand in the driveway. As far as I know, he's out there still.
If you're in the U.S., go vote. Or I'll send Zane to find you and poke your eyes out.