I asked my husband to invent a new cocktail - which I've named named The Debater
- to accompany the New Mexican Green Chile Posole I've prepared to keep our souls warm throughout the agonizing slog the first 90-minute debate promises to be.
No one wonders what the content will be. Only the tone, the pitch, the swagger, the amount of gesticulating - on a scale of 1-100 - remains to be measured, weighed, put on the scales, left to divide up into blue and red pie charts, stats, percentages, thumbs up and thumbs down.
For my part, I fully expect to see every male/female tussle ever invented, ever tested, ever described played out in public, just in case any man or woman left on Planet Earth might be unfamiliar with them.
We will watch Trump repeat versions of things he's said publicly before. He'll call Clinton names, criticize the way she looks, question her health, her stamina, her mental faculties. He'll humiliate, belittle, ridicule, criticize, insult, demean, denigrate, smear, defame, libel, slur, slander, besmirch, badmouth and disparage her - J'ACCUSE!!!!
- because he knows that a woman cannot fight back 'in-kind' in our culture, most especially in public, and he's hoping she'll crack under the onslaught of vitriol thrown her way.
He'll utilize that tantalizing and deceptively delicious ole' chestnut, 'If you little ladies want to be in the military, on the police force, or at the top-o-the-heap with the big boys, well, you're just gonna have to be able to eat a lot of C*&P'. Publicly. Public C*&P. Especially public C*&P.
He's betting on the tried and true Hester Prynne, Salem Witch Hunt stuff, but it won't work, ultimately, and it won't matter, ultimately, no matter how much jeering goes on in the Hall, no matter how entertaining it may appear to be, no matter how many Ews, Whoops, Yikes, Did He Really
Say That? and Holy Cows, are uttered, or how much laughter or boos are evoked, no matter how much raucous applause there is any time an arrow hits its mark, skin is sliced, wounds are opened, solar plexus ooofffs are coughed up, blood is drawn, or beads of sweat appear on powdered foreheads.
It won't matter, ultimately, because Hillary won't cave...because she's fully versed on the issues and Trump isn't. Never was and never will be.
And that's all that will matter, ultimately, at the end of the day, tonight or on November 8th.
Despite my confidence, I still intend to serve up a lovely Caesar Salad with cornbread croutons and a hearty, spicy New Mexican Green Chile Posole to accompany the evening...
...and I'll be eager to taste my husband's recipe for a cocktail named The Debator.
"Make is spicy, not sweet," I told him. "There's no place for sweet in this debate."
Not if you're a female candidate for POTUS.
P.S. And now John Oliver, just for fun of course:http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/john-oliver-raisins-scandals_us_57e8c100e4b0e80b1ba2ced0?section=&