All right, I admit it.

It was my idea. I'm not proud of it. I'll probably lose my seat on the Straight Talk Express. I'll certainly have some answering to do to my still non-existent editor at the Middletown Republican Chassidic Dispatch. I told her to do it. We were having a mid-afternoon cocktail and I was sure she wouldn't take me seriously. I was bragging about the letter from Sela Ward. She seemed interested and my shiksometer was going ape just being in her presence. I was nervous so I made some jokes. And she laughed. A few more jokes (apparently the mere mention of a rabbi and a priest in the same sentence was enough to send her into a tizzy) and a second cocktail and all of a sudden we're chums. And then...

She glances around the bar. Her still smooth skin glows even brighter after a Stoli on the rocks. She lowers her gaze a bit.

"Bill, I have to tell someone this. I just don't know what to do when I'm First Lady. There are so many issues I care about, but, what will my issue be?" She takes a furtive sip and looks at me, expectantly.

"Cindy, I'm no politician, but it seems like your job over the next few months is to appear solid and supportive, speak eloquently, and stay out of the limelight. Why would you try to compete with Bill or Michelle anyway?" I sniff my whiskey but do not drink. I am pretending to be much cooler than I feel.

"But, that's the problem, exactly. The American people are going to want me to rise to the occasion. Be a Laura Bush, a Hillary, ya know?"

"I'm not sure I agree. Maybe you should consider the fact, especially in a campaign where race and sex are bound to play predominant roles, that your campaign might benefit from a First Lady trumpeting more, well, traditional values." I sound like an asshole. I sound like a know-it-all douchebag. I sound like a---

"That's exactly what I've been telling John!" She practically slaps my whiskey out of my hand. "But I'm no good at the traditional stuff. I mean, I can barely cook."

"Eh, get an intern to look up some recipes somewhere and post them on the site. If it sticks you can learn how to cook. You can be the nutrition First Lady. A healthy America or some shit like that."

She grabs her cellphone and dials.

"Laney, it's Cindy. I need recipes. Interesting, but not too interesting. And healthy. Very, very healthy. And with some variety. Maybe throw in little ethnic touches. Not too ethnic. We're not Democrats for Christ's sake. Oh, I don't give a shit, Laney, just find the things. Get 'em on the website. Say they're family recipes. Yeah, that sounds good. The McCain Melting Pot! No? No, that is too much. Ok, good." She turns to me. "Bill, thank you, this is brilliant. Thank you." And she leaves.

And now this... Recipegate! Oy, what a disaster! This can't be good...