After America

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Seattle, Washington "Man, being president sucks."

"Try being married to the bozo who's always complaining about how much being president sucks."

Kipper flinched as Barb pinched a small fold of skin just below his Adam's apple while trying to fasten the top of his dress shirt.

"Oh my God, Kip. You are such a baby. It's lucky none of your marines can see you right now."

"They're not my marines," he protested, finally stepping away from his wife to peer around her shoulder at the full-length mirror in the bedroom of their private quarters.

Hmmph. He was a wearing a fucking penguin suit. With tails and everything. It was all he could do not to make little barking penguin noises.

"Do I really have to do-"

"Yes, Kip. You really have to. It's part of the job."

"But poetry…"

Kip turned from the mirror as Barbara fiddled with her earrings at the antique dresser in their bedroom.

"Come on, Kip," she teased. "Rhyming couplets aren't the worst things you've had thrown at you the last couple of years. It might even be fun."

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