Well There Go My Plans For The White House Easter Egg Roll
By Bill Clinton
Like so many Americans, I am still in disbelief that Donald Trump is our President-Elect. I believed with all my heart that Hillary and I would stride hand-in-hand to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue on Inauguration Day and I would see her sworn in before an America that is inclusive, brave, and kind.
I couldn’t wait to be the first First Gentleman. When I heard that the First Lady joined Snapchat, I practically vomited rainbows of joy. The possibilities seemed wondrous! Yet now I know this honor will never be mine. Today, I am grappling with the disappointment that devastates me most of all: I will never get to execute my vision for the White House Easter Egg Roll.
For eight years, I watched as Hillary begrudgingly oversaw this American institution. For eight years, I stood on the sidelines, noting (but keeping to myself, of course) all the ways in which I could do that job better than she could, if only rigid gender roles did not keep me locked in my presidential lane.
Then I observed, patiently, the operation under Laura Bush — lovely, but lacking — and Michelle Obama, whose most recent choice of theme, “Let’s Celebrate!”, was, in my opinion, totally basic. We’re going to read Where the Wild Things Are during Storytime on the South Lawn again? Where is the innovation here?
I don’t know if you women out there can understand this, but people just don’t see men as Easter Egg Roll planners. Even if a man is objectively more prepared or capable at Easter Egg Rolling, it doesn’t make a difference. Sure, people won’t come out and say it like that. It wouldn’t be “politically correct.” But I can tell what is in their hearts. “Go back to the Oval Office,” they are sneering, secretly. “You don’t belong here, as the leader of White House Easter Egg Roll.”
Do you know what it feels like to be excluded from a position of power just because of these unfair perceptions people have about you based on your sex? I do, and let me tell you something: It really hurts.
I wrote another version of this essay, citing Easter Egg Rolls all the way back to the Hayes administration, weighing their strengths and weaknesses. I challenged preconceived notions about what an Easter Egg Roll could be. Why must all the decor be done in pastels? Can’t we be bolder? As our nation’s first black president, I do not doubt that I am the best person to bring brighter colors to the proceedings. Also, I think the bunny could be sexier.
I showed that draft to Hillary. She told me it was too long.
“Maybe no one wants to hear from you now, Bill,” she suggested.
But she is grieving. She doesn’t even know what she needs. Yesterday, I tried to lift her spirits with a sweet, sweet saxophone solo. She went for a hike without me.
I can say with confidence there has never been a man or a woman — not Hillary, not Michelle, nobody — more qualified than I am to serve as host of the White House Easter Egg Roll. I alone bring the bone-deep appreciation for the finer points of supply and demand that can make or break the Easter Egg Hunt portion of this sacred event. I ask myself constantly: How many eggs should there be, and in what locations, relative to how many children are in attendance, keeping in mind their respective ages and previous experience as Easter Egg Rollers? These questions are crucial, I repeat, CRUCIAL, to performing this vital duty successfully.
While I mean no disrespect to Melania Trump, I find it hard to believe that she, a former model, brings anything close to the level of expertise and insight required to execute an Easter Egg Roll worthy of the United States, the greatest country on Earth.
I waited my turn for so long. Last Tuesday morning, I believed: Finally, my time has come. But it was not to be.
Am I making sense? There’s nothing like allowing yourself to hope, all your life, that one day you will overcome the obstacles that have forever blocked your path to ascend to a position of power that you know is rightfully yours, only to have that chance snatched away at the last minute by someone who deserves it less than you. To give yourself permission to dream, only to wake into a nightmare.
Such is the heartbreak that levels me now, as I realize I will never plan a White House Easter Egg Roll. I can only pray that someday, some man will.