Dear Diary: Thursday night was a night to remember. M and I dined at Minibar, a tiny 12-seater D.C. food shrine. Because of the campaign we haven't been able to go out for a decent meal for weeks. The bill last night came to only some $900, but imagine the cadenza from the GOP if we had spent that much on dinner for two before the election. After a side trip to Chicago this morning I'm on my way to a long weekend of golf instruction in Palm City, Florida, from the noted instructor Butch Harmon and his son, Claude. The Harmons will fly down to the course, specifically to offer tips to me. It's good to be king. What's also good is that Michelle and the girls are taking a skiing break in Aspen together with the Bidens, while I'm in Florida perfecting my swing.
Dudes! What better way than golf to spend a long weekend that's named for me and an old white guy named George Wishington, or similar. Or was George that crazy king who dumped tea into Boston harbor? I dunno: Indonesian schools were pretty clueless when it came to teaching kuffar history.
