WASHINGTON – It just came in the mail, delivered by MY boys in blue, the good men and women of the United States Postal Service. My fingers fumbled with the packing tape, but after several broken nails, a severe cardboard cut, and a routine bloody nose, there it was. My very own Biden-Harris 2020 mask. I knew all I had to do was slap that sucker on, after applying pressure and tilting my head back for a little while, I’d hit the streets and dance on benches with strangers. With all this collective relief going around, I’m sure to see some action!

To think, a 77 year old soft spoken grandfather of 7 and a snappy dressing senator, wife, and mother came together to be the answer to my prayers for companionship. These two have the whole dang town coupling up! And in that spirit, I’m going to put on my nice socks and my skinniest tie to go find me a partner. I am concerned about logistics. My sleep apnea machine is a bit too bulky to wear around and, assuming I’ll be spending the evening at my suitor’s house (I STILL don’t have a sink), I’ll need to have it in tow. So I’m going to pack it in my roller suitcase along with snacks, Twister, and two chocolate calendars. And hey! I’ll have a partner to twirl before I find one made of flesh and bone!

Trump’s unwillingness to formally concede is a real break for me. Prolonging the election means more days to celebrate OUR new president and more days for me to know some new folks. You know, in the bibliographic sense. That being said, my time is running thin. If only I would have had the good sense to ditch my Chewbaca-mouth mask (but, if we’re honest, how could I have done that?) and order a presidential mask for election days… Now I’m late to a party of repressed and grateful young people looking to score big. But, I’m hopeful! I’m going out tonight and going home with the first person I find who swears on their right arm that they don’t own a dog or keep shellfish in the house. Of course, no 6.5s or below.