First of all, you came too soon.
The last time we saw you, things were different. In 2004, the foreplay — and what foreplay it was! — lasted until March 2nd. But you couldn’t quite hold back this time, could you? Maybe we’re partly to blame. Maybe our expectations were too high. Maybe we were asking for it.
All we’ve heard for the past few months was how big you were. All our friends told us you were “Super.” But size isn’t everything — Iowa might have been a little on the small side, but at least he knows what we like.
We thought this would be the start of something real, something special. We thought we could make a commitment. But at the end of the night, we weren’t satisfied, and no one finished (except Romney, but he’s Mormon).
Don’t get us wrong. You had us pretty excited. And you touched us in places we’d never even thought about before! Seriously — Arkansas?
The only person who enjoyed a happy ending Tuesday night was John McCain — and frankly, we’re tired of wrinkly old white guys. Been there, done that. Plus he has a weird-shaped head and is going to die soon. The May-December thing doesn’t do it for us anymore. We want change. Something new, something fresh, something …
Or maybe a woman? We’ve never done that before. You know, test the waters. Learn about ourselves! And college is the time to experiment, right?
But no, Super Tuesday. You seem fun — you always seem fun — but when we want to run out for milkshakes and fries at 4 a.m. and then make out in the parking lot, you just want to roll over and go to sleep.
The worst part is, we have no choice but to let you string us along. Like a fool, we come back again and again, thinking each time will be different. Saturday in Louisiana, Sunday in Maine — one night stands in libraries and day care centers across our once fecund land.
Now you’ve left. We’ve got no candidate; just an “I Voted!” sticker glued fast to our thigh.
It’s morning in scene’s America, and once again we’re waking up alone and confused.