My Lost Invitation

Surely by now you’ve read or seen those people who crashed the White House state dinner last week. They just waltzed right up to the door of the White House and sat down to dinner with the Prime Minister of India.

As tax paying citizens of the United States, you and I should absolutely be invited to the White House for dinner. We would be just as interesting as any of the major campaign contribution folks who got invited. We would have found something appropriate to wear. We wouldn’t have shown up in last year’s Old Navy sweats demanding a doggie bag for our green curry prawns. (I looked it up.)
And I think the Prime Minister would have enjoyed a conversation with an actual American, don’t you? We could have shared stories of the crazy exploits of our children. He must have grandchildren. We could have swapped photos. I would have regaled him with fascinating stories of ice fishing on a Minnesota January weekend and the Target checkout line on Black Friday morning.
But I wasn’t invited and (I am just guessing) neither were you. So we stayed home in our Old Navy sweats and ate leftover pizza and watched CSI reruns, didn’t we? Not so much this couple. They didn’t let a little thing like not having an invitation stop them. They got dressed up and went.
Which, I think proves my earlier point that we have manners and they don’t. We don’t go to parties to which we are not invited.
So why did we eat the pizza and they got the prawns?
Now they want $500,000 to tell their story of how they trespassed. Sure. I want $500,000 to tell the story of how I had to sit between my parents at the last two funerals I attended. I bet my story is way funnier and way less embarrassing to the Secret Service.
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