Mr. President (Obamney)

4

"Didn't mean to intrude, your personal concert there Obama," Mitt Romney laughs.

I quickly roll up the window not wanting another fight. I'm already battling with my wife, I don't need Romney making it worst. Besides, I don't want to tarnish my reputation, or do something I will regret.

Luckily, Romney's car turns the opposite direction when we hit a four way stop in front of Walmart.

My chauffeur drops me off at the front, I quickly thank him and dash inside.

I browse through the long aisles of the department store hunting for fishing gear.

I find a shiny polished rod and reel, for a really reasonable price considering the quality so I quickly throw it into my shopping cart.

I then look for a vest, boots, hats, and anything else I may need to spice up my appearance for my fishing voyage.

As I'm browsing up and down the aisles collecting everything needed for our manly getaway, I begin to miss Michelle.

Her silky chocolate hair; warm, welcoming eyes, that smile so contagious. I miss her gentle lips pecking at my cheek, her special homemade cinnamon rolls, glazed with icing richer then Bill Gates.

Then I think of that dark evening when our conflict unraveled, Wishing I never raised my voice at her. Michelle was just looking after me like any wife should. She also had a point, I spend a major of my free time with Clinton instead of her.

I check my Blackberry hoping she left me a voicemail or text message.

She didn't.

But I don't blame her, I quickly press the number keys to her cell and wait anxiously hoping to hear her soft voice. I want to say I love her and how sorry I am for everything that I've done.

She doesn't answer me, sending me straight to voicemail.

Making a dagger stab into my fragile heart, it's pieces scattered across the floor like an unsolved jigsaw puzzle.

A lump is growing in my tense throat as I'm trying not to have an emotional breakdown in front of the cashier. I mask my sadness with a weak smile hoping no one will noticed my heartache.

I carry my bags out and place them in the back of my limo, telling my driver to take me back to the White House in time for lunch.

My day gets a little better when I remember we're having the dinosaur chicken nuggets at lunch time.

Pulling into the drive way of the White House I tell my chauffeur to take my bags and put them in my office. I rush inside, trying to be first in line to get my nuggets.

When I reach the dining hall I grab a full plate of dinosaur chicken nuggets, then squeeze ketchup in a puddle on one of the corners of the plate. A server hands me a glass of chilled lemonade and I can't help but think my life is made.

I'm dipping my food in ketchup, pretending my mouth is a monster and my dinosaur nuggets are running, scared of being chewed and swallowed.

When I clear my plate, I don't feel bad because the dinosaurs are in a better place as Michelle would say.

I give my plate to the dining hall steward, and head upstairs to get dressed for my fishing trip.

I haven't gone fishing in awhile so it should be interesting, especially with Clinton and Bush.

Clinton texted me the details on where we are meeting to go fishing earlier this morning.

He apparently has a membership at a high end yacht club, so I'm hoping they like our music taste because we really like to break it down, whether it be on a fancy boat or on the dance floor.

I know I'm bringing my portable boom box that Vice President Joe Biden gifted to me a few years ago. Tho it be old, it's built to last.

I'm wearing my casual forest green polo, a fishing vest, kaki shorts, and scandalous open toe sandals. I feel like a pro.

I then load up the back of the limo with my bait, fishing pole, and my portable boom box. Ready to take on this fishing adventure.