The Naked Truth

In 1969, I was suspended from East Junior High School in Butte Montana for wearing a pantsuit. My mother had sewn it by hand.  Being from a family of Italian tailors, by default she did an excellent job. When I told her that wearing it would probably violate the school dress code she said that was a foolish rule and stood by me, defending my choice, as the Principal threatened expulsion if it happened again.

Today I am a 62-year-old woman with no desire to join a club called Pantsuit Nation. I supported Bernie Sanders, not because I believed he could accomplish his goals. But because, at a time of global uncertainty, I believed a Sanders/Trump contest would draw a clear line in the sand. Finally define the American character. Clinton/Trump, on the other hand, are old frenemies. Both have credentials built on shifting sands. Their battle was about who got to claim the spoils.

After months of the most soul searching, mind numbing election decision I’ve ever made, I voted for Mrs. Clinton because I had a strong feeling that Mr. Trump would win. This election was the perfect setup for a cosmic joke and I had no desire to deal with misplaced blame for helping the Donald into office.

Now no one can honestly claim to know what will happen next, but I am certain that a Pantsuit Nation will not lead a revolution that requires naked truth.