I’m not allowed to watch t.v. . . .

Or at least the Democratic National Convention.  My husband has forbidden it.  With formidable authority he has threatened to leave if I but even act as though I might flip the channel to catch the coverage.  Who can blame him?  Would you want to suddenly find the woman you thought was your sweet wife foaming at the mouth and sweating bullets of bloody frustrated fury when Hillary or Bill or Al or Ted or John or John took the stage?  Even now as I think about it, small knots are forming in my shoulders with the anger and frustration I feel towards people determined to destroy my country, in the name of progress.  Progress my eye! 

Now, when the Republicans take the stage in a few weeks, now that’ll be t.v. worth tuning in for . . .