Welcome to the Wedding of the Century.
This is the imaginary one in which my daughter, Kendall, marries the man of her dreams: President Obama. The kid has been obsessed with the Prez since last summer. Someone at daycare with a deep love for the Democratic party must've put a bug in her ear. Not that there's anything wrong with it. But this affinity for BO has become pretty deep.
We had a conversation about her love this week when a life-size poster of his head arrived from the DNC. Mark told Keni, a leggy blue-eyed blonde with big Chiclet teeth, that she had mail. He unfolded the picture, and her smile spread as wide as the Nile: "Baaaarack Obaaaamaaaahhhh..." It was like oral chocolate. Looooovvvveeeee.
I swear that diamonds glistened in her innocent eyes.
Innocent. Yeah. Right.
So I said to her: Do you still like Obama?
Keni: "I'm gonna marry him."
Me: Really? You do know he's married.
Keni: "Huh? Who he's married to?"
Me: Michelle Obama. I think it's pretty solid.
Keni: [Pause...] "He's gonna tell her he doesn't want her anymore. He wants to marry Kendall." [Smile spreads...]
Keni: "And then I'm gonna have a big belly. We're gonna have four babies."
Wait to the media maelstorm that will follow this love story. I never envisioned my 15 minute of fame would happen this way. To think: my future son-in-law is President of the United States. How cool is that.