Now You're Voting With Gas

What a relief: Election day. Today we not only get a new president; we get a break from the phone calls and door knockings asking us if we've voted. For someone who is already asked to repeat herself five thousand times a day because she lives with a four year old and a grown man with ADHD, OCD, and a few other initials, the civic commitment of some people and organizations came as particularly bad news.

Because I work at home, I'm forced to answer calls from unfamiliar numbers in case they pertain to something lucrative. Instead, it was often a recording of a plumber in Denver named Joe, who doesn't care for a certain candidate stereotyping his identity for the benefit of ideals he doesn't support. Or it was a woman in Duluth who told me I was a "good girl" after I gave her what she considered the good news.

Weeks ago, I'd voted by mail, an act that I thought would save me from all the hoopla, like the long lines and archaic practices of punching pieces of paper with a stylus that I would secretly sterilize with a Lysol wipe before touching.

So last night, much too late to make any kind of material gain from it (my timing is always this spot-on), I made a little sticker, as much to amuse myself as to keep others from asking me if I've voted. I've passed it, much like the dutchie, to the left hand side. Feel free to use it at your blog, and wherever else you like. Personally, I think Benjamin Franklin would be proud.