We Get IT Michelle, Now Stop!

I loved you during the campaign, especially when you wore that little Gap plaid empire-tie dress. While I admitted to myself that being significantly less fit and curvy than you and with twice the bosom, wearing a plaid empire dress would make me appear as if I’ve got a table strapped to my chest—I still felt pangs of pride that you looked so together for Fourth of July.

Just watching you be you made it a true Independence Day for me.

I experienced delight watching news stories about your post-holiday shopping frenzy as women lined up to buy themselves that same dress.

Good for you Michelle!

Then I found out you dress yourself. Is that true? That you picked the sparkling yellow-gold sheath dress by designer Isabel Toledo for the inauguration all by yourself?

I had tears in my eyes—really—watching your husband give that speech. How spectacular you looked. How perfect your daughters behaved. Even if, in some alternative dimension, my husband became President, I fear my daughter would attend his inauguration wearing baggy jeans marred by splatters of oil paint and smears of charcoal—and my son could never sit still. During pastor Rick Warren’s invocation, he’d probably go into the bathroom on the pretense of using the john and instead spike his hair. I love little girls in dresses, and there yours sat looking perfect.

Yes, Michelle, you’ve been a feel-good-first-lady.

Someone who I could never be, but a woman I admired and genuinely liked. Who wouldn’t want to be married to the President, cheered in Europe or cozy up to Queen Elizabeth? As a mother with the pressure of your position, I have been amazed at how much order you bring to your family. You even have your mom living with you, and you and your husband took a whole year to choose a dog. We got ours at a puppy-give-away.

While I know I can never be like you—while you garden on the White House lawn, mine dies; while you bare your buff forearms, mine billow in the breeze; and as you prepare for a state dinner I’m discovering someone drank the last drop of milk and I’ll use water from the faucet to make my son’s boxed macaroni and cheese.

And still, after all this, I never felt jealous of you. Not once. I swear.

I admired you and cheered you on and shouted, “Oh, shut up and leave her alone!” at the Fox News Network. THAT is how much I loved you and have been on your side.

But now Michelle, you’ve done it. You’ve finally turned me. When I was a child, no older than your two daughters, I saw the smug looks on those other girls as they effortlessly kept their hula-hoops rotating around their waists while mine collided with my ankles and tried to trip me. But you Michelle—show off—you orbited that hoop above your hips 142 times. REALLY? Being married to the President, hugging the Queen, going sleeveless, being a perfect Mom, and that dog, Bo! All that isn’t enough for you? Did you really need to remind me and so many others that we sucked at kid’s games?

Michelle, stop. Just stop!!!