Written by Nancy Wurtzel
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Thursday, 29 March 2012

image for My Worst Nightmare: I Was Married to Newt Gingrich

I'm coming clean and you are the first to know.

If you are a frequent Dating Dementia reader, you'll recall that I seldom remember my dreams. Scientists have established that everyone dreams. I'm sure I do. Yet, for some unknown reason, upon waking I remember nothing about the weird wanderings of my midnight mind.

Ignorance is indeed bliss.

My bliss bubble was popped early this morning when I awakened in a full panic. My dream (nightmare?) was crystal clear. It was scary, outlandish, highly disturbing, and yet….

In my twisted dream, I was married to Newt Gingrich - yes, THE NEWT himself - the pudgy pillar of the vast right wing conspiracy - who is seeking the highest political office in our land. Newt and I were on a campaign train barnstorming somewhere in the Midwest. Evidently, trains have made a big comeback on the campaign trail.

We were sequestered with top campaign aides discussing strategy. I was 30 pounds lighter, five inches taller and 20 years younger - looking damn good, I have to say.

The conversation was intense. Evidently, Newt & Mitt were neck & neck (try saying that five times) in the primaries with only a few more contests to go. Newt was down by just 75 delegates. One of the political advisers pointed out that Newt did his best when he was the underdog. I nodded in agreement and squeezed Newt's hand. Yes, we were holding hands, and sitting very close. It was creepy, and yet…

With a flourish the aides unveiled a new media strategy attacking Mitt's religious affiliation. In focus groups, the ads scored high among undecided men and single women. Moms, however, responded negatively, but nobody was sure why.

"I know why." All eyes turned to me. "Woman are secretly attracted to Mormon history because the idea of a sister wife - someone to share the laundry, cooking, cleaning, shopping and endless chauffeuring - is highly attractive. Really, moms with kids would have no problem sharing their man if it meant there was another woman willing to make dinner every other night."

Newt looked at me with his piercing stare. Uh oh. Was my dearest upset? Should I have stayed quiet? And yet…

Suddenly, Newt flashed one of his devious trademark grins. He agreed! The campaign couldn't risk angering the Mom Vote. Deflated, the campaign advisers were sent back to try again. Newt ushered everyone else out, and finally we were alone.

I won't tell you what happened next.

Let me just say that it was much like a train wreck. And yet…

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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