Dear Diary: Uh-oh. Bad news. I don't mean the media reaction to microphones picking up Dimi Medvedev and I talking about missiles and the need for Vlad the Impaler to give me space. The bad news is about peas. More of them.
I called Michelle this evening and she was bubbling with excitement about planting her fourth White House vegetable garden. " Wunderbar!" I said, practicing my German, the better to to ingratiate myself with that scary Angela Merkel. Talking of scary women , I asked Michelle if she was planting another crop of peas. "Of course," she said, "After that bountiful crop last year which we're still eating." Tell me about it.
Maybe if I lose in November we can leave those frozen green bullets behind for the Romneys. It's my last night in Seoul. Marv has laid out Boo-boo and my blue jammies. A quick prayer to myself. And so to bed.
I called Michelle this evening and she was bubbling with excitement about planting her fourth White House vegetable garden. " Wunderbar!" I said, practicing my German, the better to to ingratiate myself with that scary Angela Merkel. Talking of scary women , I asked Michelle if she was planting another crop of peas. "Of course," she said, "After that bountiful crop last year which we're still eating." Tell me about it.
Maybe if I lose in November we can leave those frozen green bullets behind for the Romneys. It's my last night in Seoul. Marv has laid out Boo-boo and my blue jammies. A quick prayer to myself. And so to bed.
