How to Become President: Chapter 3

August 1, 2009


IF a woman isn’t qualified to be President, why is it you never see anything but pants on scarecrows?

Personally, I think that now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of a certain little party. After all, Mr. Roosevelt has been President for eight years, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind getting up and giving his seat to a lady. That old saying about not changing horses in the middle of the stream is ridiculous, when you remember that people have been changing babies in the middle of the afternoon for years and everybody takes it for granted.

Now, I don’t pretend to know all the answers. I’m just a plain, ordinary, everyday genius who loves her fellow-man whenever possible. But let me tell you that women are getting very tired of running a poor second to the Forgotten Man, and with all the practice we’ve had around the house the time is ripe for a woman to sweep the country. I’ll make a prediction with my eyes open: that a woman can and will be elected if she is qualified and gets enough votes.

The Constitution doesn’t say anything about “he” or “him”; it refers only to “the person to be voted for.” And if women aren’t persons, what goes on here? It also says you must be a natural-born citizen of the United States. Well, I’m no incubator baby, and my mother never even set foot in Maine or Vermont until I was ten years old, and that takes care of that.

I notice that many a man who laughs at women’s clothes has been glad enough to borrow a corset string to lace his white shoes. When Romeo drank the poison, who got the nickel back on the bottle? When Paris gave Helen of Troy that wooden horse, who put two dollars on its nose? Who taught men all they know? Women schoolteachers, that’s who!

Of course a woman might make a few necessary changes in the national government, such as moving the Capitol furniture around, but nothing radical. Nothing like throwing out the Supreme Court bench or using the Speaker’s gavel to crack nuts with.

As a matter of fact, the woman’s touch might have its points. I’ll certainly print a few decent recipes in the Congressional Record, so when those foreign diplomats come around the State Department and ask what’s cookin’ I can give them a sensible answer. If the Senators hold up the business of the country with one of their filibusters I’ll simply walk in and say, “Break it up, boys. I’m having a few of the girls in for bridge.” And when I think of the awkward way out men Presidents act when a French Ambassador kisses them on both cheeks–I don’t have to tell you any more, do I, brother?

I admit that the election of the first woman would let the country in for a flood of corny jokes. Men would go around nudging each other and saying things like “I see out Lady President has passed a law we have to put skirts on ash cans and lace panties on park benches.” But that would soon pass. Why, that stuff isn’t even funny enough for Fred Allen!

In conclusion, let me remind you that half of the married people in this country are women. The same is true of men, which is about the only thing you can say is true about most men. Queen Victoria, Queen Elizabeth, Catherine the Great. Look at what they did to keep their nations out of the Red! What were the men doing all this time? And where? It’s only a step from resident to President.


Mark my words: some day the history books will say, “Gracie Allen. Not first in war, not first in peace, but first in the hair of her countrymen.”


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