Bubba and Taylor Swift

By Bobby Neal Winters

I got a call last week from my old friend Bubba from back home.  He’s the one that lives just the other side of Wapanucka.  We passed and repassed but, almost inevitably, the subject of politics came up.

Being quite forward, he asked, “So who are you for?”

“None of them,” I said. “Neither of the presumptive nominees is very attractive.”  I thought he was going to ding me for using the word “presumptive,”  but he let it go.  Instead, he came back sounding cheerful.

“Well, if you just stick with what the system brings you, you are bound to be disappointed. I’ve got someone better.  Someone who can lead the country into the future.”

“Oh, pray tell, who? Don’t keep me in suspense.” 

I am afraid I sounded a little grumpy.

His answer was not grumpy.

“Taylor Swift.”

There was a longish moment of silence.  This was quite unusual because Bubba tends to fill all the silence.  But after a moment, I responded as intelligently as I could.

“Wha-a-at?”

“Not what, who,” he said. “Taylor Swift.”

“Okay, who not what, but why?” I asked.  I ended on a pronounced upward inflection because I was incredibly confused.

“Well,” he said evenly, “look at the two main candidates and why people are for them or against them, and then look at Taylor.

“Taylor is a billionaire. She did it on her own. She’s not bought and paid for on day one.”

“Okay,” I was nodding even though he couldn’t see me. “I’ll grant you that.  Go on.”

“She’s a tough negotiator.  She’s gone head to head with the music industry. She’s got the rules changed.  She did it in such a way as to help her fellow artists as well.”

“Okay,” I couldn’t deny that.

“She’s got moxie,” he continued. “When she didn’t have the rights to her own albums, she recorded them and told her fans to buy the new ones.  It was Kelly Clarkson’s idea, and she always gives Kelly credit for it.”

I was about to acknowledge that, when he continued.

“While I am at it, let me say that Taylor always takes care of her own.  It’s not one minute a person is the best in the world and the next minute they are a loser.  She doesn’t throw her friends under the bus.”

“O...,” I began, but before I could get out my “kay” he pushed on.

“And she’s not as old as Methusalah.” 

“Certainly not,” I said, but then a question quickly presented itself to me. “But is she even old enough to be president.  There is a limit to how young you can be.”

It had been a while since I’d taken civics, but I remembered that.

“Well,” Bubba drawled, “I am ahead of you there.  I googled it.  You have to be 35 years old to be President of the United States.  Taylor is 34 now, and she will turn 35 in December of this year.  She would be 34 on election day, but she would be 35 when she took the oath of office in January.  She would be in under the wire by a little over a month.

“Some might say that’s a-cuttin’ it a little close, but to me that looks like a sign from God.”

By this time my mind was confused, and I started grasping for reasons.

“But she’s had a number of boyfriends that she’s had very public breakups with. Wouldn’t that be a problem?”

“The democrats haven’t cared about a candidate’s love life since the late 1990s and the republicans stopped caring in 2016.  And none of them even wrote songs about it.”

I was worried.  I was worried because in the context of what people seem to care about when voting for president I couldn’t find a counter argument.

Finally I asked, “Anything else?”

“Sure,” he said, “One more thing.”

I waited.

“She looks better in a miniskirt than any of the rest of them.”

“Goodbye, Bubba,” I said and hung up the phone.

Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. Search for him by name on YouTube.