Mr. President (Obamney)

7

Bush and I are sorting through Clinton's DVDs, trying to find one that suits our evening.

I think the type of movies you have really say a lot about your personality.

So I learned a lot about Clinton.

Bush says I can pick it out because I won, so I'm internally battling whether I want The Justin Bieber Believe documentary on the iconic story of JB

Or

The hot and dangerous love tale with Bella and Edward in Twilight.

My inside struggle is solved when Bush notices me eyeing the two films.

"Go with twilight," Bush remarks nonchalantly answering my dilemma.

"Thanks bro," I agree, Twilight is a remarkable and beautiful film.

"I mean JB cute, but Jacob can make even Jesus a sinner," Bush says while licking his lips.

I'm on team Edward but I really don't want to fight with Bush especially since he helped me with my girl drama, so I just nod replying,"totes."

While I'm placing the DVD in the DVR, I hear a blood-curdling scream, I quickly look to Bush, his eyes wide.

Clinton.

We both get up and scramble to the kitchen, checking to make sure he's okay.

When we reach the kitchen he has his head buried into his arms on the counter top.

"Dude? WTF?" Bush yells shaking him.

Clinton lifts his head," I burnt my fish."

His pupils are filled with deep emotion, as if his soul had been taken and destroyed in front of his entire family.

Ugh. Clinton can be so dramatic.

One time he lost his candy bar at the park and called 911. I had to explain to the police that everything was fine.

"Bro it's okay, we can have something else. What do you have in your refrigerator?" Bush says trying to ease his sadness.

I can't help but roll my eyes because I'm so done putting up with Clinton's baby attitude. I mean come on it's a fish.

I decide to walk out, saving myself from overreacting and ruining the trip.

Inhale. Exhale.

That's what Dr. Oz always enforces during a stressful or aggravating situation.

Turning on the television, so I skip through the previews, I pull out my phone to check for any messages from Michelle.

Still none.

Maybe she's done. Maybe she done with putting up me. Maybe she's gone and she's with another man.

I miss her, everything inside of me longs for her. I want to know she's okay, that she's just as broken and lost without me as I am without her.

I love her. More than anything.

But I don't say it enough. I need to tell her she's beautiful, even when she's in sweats ready to sleep, even when she doesn't have any makeup on or high end dresses. When she's got under eye circles and her hair is in a messy bun. Because to me she's absolutely flawless in every way, and doesn't even have to try.

I am half a man without her, with her I am whole.

We're like Kim and Kanye. Like Romeo and Juliet, like Tyler Oakley and Troye Sivan. Like Shrek and Donkey, and Mary and Joseph.

A match made in heaven; built to last to infinity and beyond.

As I look out the window puddles of water collect at the base of my eyes, I close them to keep me from breaking down and crying until I can't see straight.

"I'm dying of a broken heart," I whisper to the fuchsia beta swimming in the fish tank beside me, oblivious to how cruel the earth really is.

"Woah, bro what's up?" Bush says clearly concerned; patting my shoulder.

"Her," I say dropping my head, refusing to let a tear fall in front of Bush.

"Look kid, she'll come back. There's no need to pout about it now. Okay Barack. okay?" Bush says still rubbing my upper arm, trying to make eye contact.

Bush starts smiling,"So you know Clinton burnt our dinner."

"Yeah?"

"Well, all he has in his kitchen is rainbow sherbet ice cream. That's what we're having."

I try to laugh, but I don't have it in me. I give him my best weak smile, hoping my acting classes in high school payed off.

Bush slings his arm over my shoulder guiding me into the kitchen, gently whispering,"You're fine." Like a mother when her child is taking it's first steps but it collapses unable to hold it own weight. But the parent encourages the child, knowing it will happen eventually.

As we're entering, Clinton is scooping the fun and brightly colored ice cream into his bowl. Smirking, he gestures to two extra empty dishes to shovel our dinner into.

I watch as Clinton's frozen dessert is streaming down the sides of the bowl, making a mess, I hopefully will not have to clean.

When Clinton's done spooning his meal, he slides Bush and I the rainbow sherbet carton while licking his thumb grinning.

I grab the the ice cream scooper, using it hastily so Bush can bank his sorbet without a lengthy hold up.

Handing the serving utensil, I notice Clinton grabbing an assortment of toppings to embellish our decadent delights.

He lays a chaotic wide spectrum of sprinkles, sauces, and goodies. To give our own unique ice cream character, spirit, and depth.

I select the can low-fat whipped cream, pressing the nozzle so it's misting the white cream all over my creation.

I automatically grab the the red, white, and blue sprinkles because God bless America.

I shake the sprinkles, unintentionally humming the national anthem.

I decide I'm finished pimping my sundae, when it's coated in whipped cream and forth of July sprinkles.

Glancing at each other's editable, respected works of art, we applaud, complimenting every design.

We all pick up a sliver, stainless steel spoon to enjoy our sundaes, while watching a classic romance movie.

Clicking our silverware together, shouting "cheers!" as we settle down ready to enjoy Twilight.

-

A/N
Hey readers! Thanks so much, we hit a 100 reads this week! It would mean a lot if you voted for my story and shared this with your friends who have the app. I promise to have another fun chapter published by Sunday. thank you so much for reading. Hugs and kisses.
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