I'll Cry if I Want To

Okay, I'm trying to write some "Shouts and Murmurs" style pieces. Your feedback is appreciated. The boyfriend in the following piece is fictional. In case you were like "Girl, no you don't." You are correct. I don't. Also, this was written three weeks ago.
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Hillary Clinton nabbed New Hampshire yesterday and,
according to the blogo-pundo-talko-sphere, it was
because a lot of us ladies turned off Grey’s Anatomy
just in time to see those “tears”, put that pint of
ice cream back in the freezer and rush to the polls.

The endless speculation into Hillary’s emotional
makeup makes me wonder: do I, as a woman, have what it
takes to be President? I have the pedigree. I mean,
not yet, but I could get it. I went to Harvard and
that’s like step numero uno.

But what I’m worried about is my innate lady-need for
emotions. If you’d asked me about my emotional state
before this election, I would have said I was normal.
Love cute babies, have road rage normal.

Now, I’m not so sure. As a woman, would I cry in front
of Kim Jong-il? Get PMS-y right when I have to launch
a nuclear bomb? Or would I turn my emotions off and
become an unfeeling robot? Robots can’t be President
and neither can sissies!

To test my mettle, I kept an emotions journal for a
whole day to find out if I had what it takes.

6AM – Awake. Emotional response: robotic.

7:30AM – Forgot to bring special face soap into
shower. Wash face with regular soap. Emotional
response: sensitive. Worried about effects on face.
Gotta get over that: can’t think about skin when
troops are on the line.

8:20AM – Drive to work. Sad story about Iraq on NPR. I
do not cry. I sympathetically, but decisively change
lanes, indicating to other drivers my resolve.
Emotional response: Balanced.

9:30AM – We’re out of instant oatmeal at the office.
Emotional response: Hot Pocket.

11AM- My boss and I go over some of my work. Emotional
response: initially sensitive but more robotic as
criticism intensifies. I get you, Hillary!

2PM – Read about Britney Spears on the internet.
Emotional response: I can save her. I want to project
my values into her life.  I want her to read books and
watch BBC DVDs. Does this mean I would be an
interventionist President? How would I deal with the
Middle East?  Could Syria or Jordan deal with all five
hours of Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth?
Worrisome.

6PM – Dry Cleaner. Negotiations. I insist he has lost
my sweaters. He insists I lost the ticket. I don’t
have the ticket but it doesn’t mean I lost it.
Jackass. I’ll launch a missile on your bulls**t right
now, buddy. Emotional response: patriotic.

6:15PM - Tell Dry Cleaner he is unprofessional. Vow to
never return.  Emotional Response: Robotic. The kind
of thing you’d like to see with Kim Jong-il. This has
nothing to do with the fact that my dry cleaner is
Asian.

7PM – Home. Find ticket. Emotional response: Guilt.
Wild waves of guilt. I am wrong. I am flawed. I am a
blight on the human race. I do not deserve to exist.

8PM - I e-mail my family, friends, the dry cleaner,
people I have wronged, people I have admired. I
confess. Apologize. I drive to the dry cleaners. I
apologize. He says its okay. I’m glad its okay. I need
everyone to like me except that one girl from college
who was such a bi-otch when we tutored those
low-income kids.

10PM – Show journal to boyfriend. Ask if he thinks, as
a woman, I can be president. He asks why he isn’t in
it. I say, “Why would you be in it?” He wants to know
how I feel about him. I say “Why is everything always
about you? I’m a busy woman with a country to run
(someday).” He looks like he might cry. I think I’ll
just tell everyone he did.