Had dinner with President Obama last weekend. Well, it was me, the President and 2,600 of his closest friends. But the White House Correspondents Dinner was sort of my own little Cinderella story …
Once upon a time there lived a mother of two. Her name was Momerella. She had to work hard all day cleaning house, washing clothes and defrosting frozen pizza.
One day, word came that the White House Correspondents Dinner was to be held in Washington, DC. Momerella didn't dare ask if she could go. She knew very well she had to go to the grocery and drive carpool.
Suddenly, a handsome prince appeared. I know, it’s supposed to be a fairy godmother, but my story went in reverse. “Don’t cry, Momerella!” he said, “I will get you to the dinner!” But she was sad. “I don’t have a gown to wear. I mean, I have one, but it’s kinda tight, and I didn’t get to the gym this week …”
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Now the fairy godmother appeared. She was getting frustrated and wanted to move it along. She waved her magic wand and Momerella found herself wearing her black gown, fitted nicely over a snug pair of Spanx. But when the wand moved toward her feet she protested, “please don’t make them glass, they’ll kill my feet. Maybe something in an Aerosole?”
The Prince wanted to get in on the action and asked, “fairy godmother, can you get us there fast?” She instinctively knew that four horses, two coachmen and a golden coach wouldn’t get us there in time. Traffic on the beltway is hell. So she turned the cable bill into two plane tickets and called us a cab.
“But Momerella,” she warned, “you MUST reach home by midnight. Remember, you haven’t stayed up past ten o’clock in 15 years.”
When Momerella entered the dinner, everyone was struck by her beauty – (sorry, just had to keep that part of the story) – and the prince couldn’t take his eyes off her. Until he saw Connie Britton, and then he bolted to get a picture for his daughter (she loves “Friday Night Lights”). Momerella would have been VERY upset, had her Spanx not needed adjusting. And she was delighted that, once inside the ladies room, she ran into Andrea Mitchell.
But glancing at her iPhone, the hour was late. “Oh! I must go!” she cried, and she grabbed the prince and ran out of the Washington Hilton. She didn’t lose a slipper, even running three blocks around the President’s motorcade in the rain.
The prince had fallen in love with Momerella. He had never seen a woman run in a long dress and high heels in a downpour. He married Momerella and together they lived happily ever after.
Okay, they didn’t actually get married after that. But he did text her the picture of him with Connie Britton.