Admittedly, President Obama will probably never grace my bed. There are too many impediments: wars, our clashing schedules, concern for public opinion. But if he did, I’d sure as hell let him stay. I say this because. . .
He has excellent posture.
I never got the chance to sleep with John F. Kennedy.
He doesn’t fart when anyone’s around — even the secret service men. He may want to, but has far too much class to indulge.
If he managed to get past the clutter in my front hallway, I’d owe it to him.
Witness to my parking situation, he’d surely abolish all of the handicapped spaces on my street.
I’d discover first-hand what time he gets up in the morning, and what type of sound he’s chosen for his alarm. Maybe I’d even get to hear his ring-tone!
He has great skin.
I’d feel patriotic in a new, sexier kind of way. I’d drape a flag across my headboard and feed him red, white and blue ice cream cake while humming the national anthem.
I’ve dreamed of massaging his ears.
I’d like him to meet my cat.
My boyfriend might finally respect me.The Wedding Guest | My Father’s Daughter, The Pope →