There has been quite a bit of controversy regarding the size Michelle Obama’s staff. The general consensus is that Michelle’s staffers number somewhere around twenty-six people. Please note that there will be no source cited for this tidbit of information because as I was dashing to the TV to find out what channel I had on, the puppy did a little dance on the remote. Can I quote an “unknown source”?
I evaluated the information, fairly and objectively, I believe, and reached my conclusion using a handy tool I like to call “My Theory of Relativity”. This clever theory might sound familiar to those who have opened a book or two, and it should. I pirated it from an odd looking gentleman with a bad hairstyle.
Anywhoo, the concept of my theory involves placing myself in the midst of a dilemma and comparing what I might do with what is being done. I almost called this my replacement theory, but that sounded so mundane. So, I placed myself in Michelle Obama’s shoes yesterday, and while “First Lady For a Day”, here is what I found.
I needed a little help in fashion decisions. Should I wear my Wal-Mart jeans or my sweats? Didn’t going sleeveless while hugging the stuffing out of the Queen attract criticism? I went with a basic black little number I like to call my tent dress. Criticism amounted to the eldest grandniece asking me whose funeral was at eight o’clock in the morning. Note to self: First Lady Michelle Obama definitely needs a personal fashion expert.
I’m sure Michelle, being the First Mother cooks her children breakfast, so I swooped downstairs and asked the adoring faces of the kiddies what they would like. The little guy’s eyes bugged out and he promptly answered a Hoodsie Cup, and the middle child reminded me she ate last Tuesday. Ok then, the eldest is self-sufficient, so I made a note to myself that a personal chef would not be unreasonable for the First Lady.
I noticed the kitchen was a bit of a disaster from last night’s midnight snacking and the dog nibbling on the logs that I think look rustic sitting beside the fake fireplace. Michelle Obama has a dog, so she most likely would need someone to assist her in caring for it. I doubt she handles a pooper scooper in full formal attire, so I waddled upstairs for a change of clothes, since the dog just left me a gift on his way to his toilette. He couldn’t walk the extra ten feet to the specified area?
I understand the First Lady is a multi-tasker. I decided to combine my gardening crocs with coordinating dog walking attire. I ended up with a smart yet sheik ensemble of Eeyore sweats, lime green neon crocs and a pink straw baseball cap. The dog ran under the porch. Unwilling to risk being captured on camera in an un-First Lady-like position, on my hands and knees crawling under the deck, I made a mental note that the First Lady should be allowed a dog trainer.
I cleaned up around the yard, raking an area roughly the size of a beer cooler, and decided that the First Lady should not be seen with massive sweat stains on her designer gardening clothes. A gardener would be required to take over after the first drop of moisture forms on the First Upper Lip. I was interrupted by the sister who reminded me of her ten o’clock appointment with me. I wondered how Michelle Obama endured these constant interruptions. Of course I needed to change out of my gardening clothes. What does one wear to a Rug-O-Rama? More important, where the hell is my car?
As I was knee deep in laundry searching for one clean matched set of underwear (What if I got into a car accident?), the phone rang. It was the nephew asking where his letter to Susan Collins was. I was supposed to have emailed a copy to him two days ago. The ex stopped by reminding me of the Ogunquit Playhouse engagement. Note to self: Michelle Obama definitely needs a secretary.
My “Theory of Relativity” was working. In the first three hours of my day, I had found justification for a fashion expert, a chef, a dog trainer, a chauffer, and a secretary. Five staffers every three hours. If the First Lady’s working day is approximately fifteen hours long that would demand uh, let’s see, five aides in three hours, um, divide fifteen by three, five times five is er,,,,twenty five! Well, would you look at that. She’s dead on!
So, all you tsk, tsk-ers, you figure it out. First Lady Michelle Obama is NOT over-staffed, and my “Theory of Relativity” proves it.
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