Barack Obama's Diary: Birthday girl

It was M's birthday Thursday. If we had ordered  a special dinner at the White House, we would have  missed the pleasure of seeing entire streets blocked off in our honor, so we had dinner at the Cafe Milano, in eternally trendy Georgetown, stamping ground of Sandra Fluke, who was so financially stretched by attending Georgetown University, that as needed financial help to pay for contraception, otherwise the poor girl might have had to take a part-time job like an ordinary college student. As a teenager, I worked at Baskin Robbins in Oahu. Scooping ice cream  is a living hell when you are high on Maui Wowie, you have the munchies and  you are topping cones with hot fudge and chopped nuts and can't even take a mouthful.
Where was I? Oh, yes: dinner.  Before we left, M came into the Oval Office, where I  was waiting  at my desk, and  stood in front of me and sighed loudly. I looked up and said: "That's a beautiful gown, hon, and-- no --it doesn't make your butt look big."
She remained there,  foot tapping, hands on hips, her face like thunder. "Well?" she said. It was only then that I noticed. She had changed  her her hair and  she now had bangs. "Wow!" I sad, "Just... wow!"
Her expression immediately softened and we made our way out to The Beast idling quietly in the driveway, heater blasting warm  air into the passenger compartment. It was  sandwiched, as usual,  between and a couple of black Secret Service SUVs. Moments later our motorcade headed  off to Georgetown.