Dearest Fellow Kossacks:
Tonight, after a long, boring day at work and a glass of wine, I realized something of vital importance.
My husband, the amazing man who tolerates my obsession with Markos (trust me....Markos hugged me during a book tour event for CTG and I don't even remember it, I was such a groupie!), bought me a signed copy of the new book by spending the $125 that was advertised earlier today in the FP.
I was overjoyed. I was overwhelmed. I was overtired.
And then the doorbell rang.
Now two years ago, I went out door banging for Darcy Burner (WA-08) on a sub-freezing Halloween night in one of the wealthiest, reddest neighborhoods in my LD and swore I'd never do it again. I call it door banging 'cuz I had a LOT of door banging...right in my face.
So tonight, in the midst of being overwrought with Markos-fever, my doorbell rang.
I peeped through the peephole.
A young woman who looked disturbingly like Michelle Malkin stood outside my door, wearing a Dino Rossi (the wingnut thug trying to steal our beloved Dem governor, Christine Gregoire, from us) t-shirt.
Now, to qualify, I have a Barack Obama lawn sign that I purchased from a third-party outlet outside, one that I paid an arm and a leg for when the Obama campaign ran out. Um....DUH?
I opened the door. I didn't even give her a chance to speak.
"Um, no. Gregoire. Dino Rossi is an asshole."
And then I closed the door.
Later, I felt bad. "I suck," I told my husband. "I'm tempted to chase after her and apologize."
"Don't," hubby said. "We (liberals) have been nice to people and tolerant and all that stuff for a long time. At some point, we have to say 'No' and get right in their face with it."
I felt bad. I thought about all the policy arguments, all the crap tactics Rossi has employed, all the hateful ads he's been putting up, and all the points I could have made about them.
I didn't. I slammed the door in her face.
And my husband and I laughed our asses off.
Sorry, Kossacks. I suck. But DAMN did it feel good.