Gosh, we’re only a few days from the big event! What are you going to wear? I’m trying to decide between the big, purple gown and the chartreuse pants suit, only which one will clash with my heels and ruby lipstick?

Decisions, decisions.

Will Mike Pence notice me? What, with his wife there? Just some sly look, something only the two of us notice, maybe a code we can agree upon beforehand, like he could look at me and silently mouth the words: “Jesus loves you,” then lick his lips. Discreetly.

Or, I could just butch it up: Go in a motorcyle get-up, leather chaps, bare-chested, fake hair pasted on, a skipper’s black cap, and a handlebar mustache. Yeah, I know, a throwback to the 80’s, but so what? You choose your decade, I’ll choose mine. “YMCA!”

Sure, the 1930’s is more fitting, and, yes, I could go in hip-length black boots, nice and shiny, a khaki-colored military uniform, etc. But that would be way too obvious. And then, too, the last thing I want to do is offend the real Nazi’s at the Inauguration.

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