Once, I had brunch with Barack (sort of)

I’m sitting here with three of my favorite men: Jon Stewart; Barack Obama; Erik Vorhes (not my favorites in that order…). It’s a lovely way to spend the evening.

And I’m thinking about the time, about a year and half ago, when we kinda sorta had brunch with Barack. We were out for late afternoon brunch with friends in Hyde Park at a great restaurant. When I (pregnant, and thus frequently needing a pee break) got up to use the bathroom, I noticed that the baseball-cap wearing guy out to eat with his daughters, possibly after taking in the Sox game, in the booth directly behind us looked quite a bit like our fine U.S. Senator. (OK, I like Durbin, too. But, not quite the same star-power, huh?) When I came back, I tried, quietly and politely, to see if my fellow diners agreed that this was, indeed, the man himself, and that some of our party were separated from him by only the high-backed booth between us. Had it not been for the wall of the booth, I’m sure we would have been one big happy brunch party.
So, everyone else went to the bathroom in turn, and agreed it was him. (Mr. Obama–I hope we were polite and not too annoying. None of us asked for an autograph–we wanted you to have a nice morning out with your little girls.)

Anti-Spread update: 4818.6 miles left to go to Rome. (They better be ordaining women by the time I get there because let me tell you, I am NOT coming back.)

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