I’m doing fairly well for a grandmother who had a monkey tangled up in her hair last month on a ghat in Varanasi at sunset. Back home again now, I can report that in the midst of the zap that is India, with its heartbreaking, gorgeous, hallucinatory, dazzling, kaleidoscopic, mind-blowing grandeur and loud reality — a place where having a monkey’s hand trapped in your dreadlocks is pretty par for the course — I came to three decisions about my own country.
Told you. She had a monkey caught in her hair.
Oh, her three decisions?
- Keep her “humor and good nature”
- Forgive John Edwards
- Trust Obama
Okay, the first two could just as easily be accomplished by converting to Christianity. You don’t need a monkey for that. I’ve checked.
The third? Trusting Obama? Apparently you need a monkey for that.
I can’t say that, though, because I’m a conservative. It would be racist to use “monkey” and “Obama” in the same essay, much less the same sentence. However, if I was some dreadlock-wearing 50-something from San Francisco, I could get away with it.
But I’d have to worry about getting monkeys in my hair.