Most of the time, I am proud of the country where I was born. I am glad I was born there and that I grew up there. But I no longer live there and so, all you Americans, today I'm a wannabe. That's right, it's Super Tuesday in one of the most exciting elections in American history. And what am I doing? Sitting at home, asking my husband on the phone who he voted for (dirty rotten patriot), and helplessly watching the results on the internet. I have plenty of political opinions, enough for another blog. But I wasn't born here and I have not yet taken the test or paid the hefty fines.
There are other ways to participate in the political process, of course, but it's not the same as standing in line shivering while they search for you on the computer, listening to the computer's certainty of your non-existence, sweetly presenting your ID because you know well enough to bring it after the last fiasco so that you can touch a screen and get your vote lost somewhere in the vast reaches of cyberspace.
Because even if you contribute to your favorite candidate's coffers and volunteer to interrupt people's dinnertime with campaign calls, every single voter still has that nasty variable called choice, and that's what calls the shots. Could we have the first black, female, Mormon, ordained minister, or doctor as the president after these elections? You decide.
I'll be sitting with a remote in my hand, waiting to find out.