W.G. Snuffy Walden

The first year we were married, Daryl and I both bought each other the complete series of The West Wing on DVD because love means living in a shared delusion where Jed Bartlet is the President and Bradley Whitford does not have a mustache. Keep in mind that this was in 2007. I can't remember who was President because I've purged that part of my memories.

Needless to say we've come a long way since then and Emmaline, in light of Josh Lyman's transformation into the boozing and womanizing  Dan Stark, is breathing a sigh of relief that she was not born a boy and named Whitford. She's also very likely relieved that she was not born twins and named Molly or Huck. She does have to live with being Emmaline Abigail, however, though I think Abbey Bartlet (fictional or not) is a fairly good role model for anyone.

So I returned Daryl's Christmas present reasoning that our blind devotion to Aaron Sorkin's vision of our country, while wholehearted, does have its limits. I spent the money on something else. In fact, I spent the money on a wine of the month club that a change in state law promptly made illegal, so I got a refund on that as well and, well, I guess Daryl is still waiting for his Christmas present.

Last night, in honor of Daryl's Easter present for Emmaline (a copy of Monsters, Inc.), we hooked up the DVD player. Well, Daryl hooked up the DVD player. I pulled the wires out the back of the media console when he pushed them through. Totally a team effort. And it only took 8 months. We are very slowly settling in here.

After teaching Emmaline to say Mike Wazowski (sort of) and tucking her into bed, Daryl realized that we now had the ability to watch Charlie help the President find his glasses in time for his live national address. We have since had a precipitous drop in our collective productivity.

This led my father to bemoan the fact that he might never get anything done again. That, in turn, led me to inquire what, exactly, he gets done as it is. He is not my biggest fan right now.

All in all, though, I think a little bit of optimism and a whole lot of nostalgia is something we should allow ourselves on occasion. Look for my next post in about six months, which is how long I calculate it will take us to turn Matthew Santos from a long shot into Commander in Chief.