North Star Writers Group

By the time I had married my husband, we had already been dating for three years. So as you can imagine, we’d already reached a number of compromises.

I wanted to try for kids right away. He wanted to wait three years. Guess what? We waited 18 months. I wanted to live in the city. He wanted to live in the suburbs. So we live on the far edge of the city – near, but not in – a suburb. You get the idea.

Well, we’re just as happy as we can be. So I’ve got an idea for Democrats and Republicans. First, let’s admit that we’re already married. We’re running a household together, and it’s called America. Some of our citizens have considered joining other political parties, and some of the have. But for the most part, those other parties are like other men. I might look, but I would never touch.

So, we’re married. Why not forget our dysfunctional ways? No more debating. No more blame games. Let’s go for the full blown fifty-fifty, take-turns compromise approach. Here are a few ways we can start:

1. Make gay marriage legal in 25 states, and illegal in the other 25. Every other state would work just fine. That way, if you were gay, and wanted to be married, you could do what a bunch of people that live in Kansas City do – live in one state but work in another! Just to clarify, I would live in one of the states where it’s legal. I love to make trips to Bed, Bath and Beyond in order to secure the future happiness of the people I care about.

2. Let the Democrats choose the next Supreme Court Justice. Come on, President Bush. You got John Roberts. No fair trying to Samuel Alito too. It's our turn! This would be the absolute perfect scenario for the “taking turns” method of ending a debate. See, last weekend, it was my turn to pick the movie we went to see. Of course, I chose Must Love Dogs even though my husband would have preferred Red Eye. This week, images of John Cusack shall happily dance through my head. Sadly, paybacks are hell, and I’ll suffer nightmares for a week starting next Saturday.

Some issues will be much more complicated, like the federal funding of stem cell research. That one might cause you to send me an e-mail in the middle of the work day because you hadn’t fully expressed your thoughts on the issue the night before. It might cause me to contact a couple of girlfriends and ask what they would do. The thing is, one of us has to give in before the weekend. There’s way too much fun to be had together to keep debating!

So – in this case – each of us gets a week to consult with our people and decide. Do the Democrats give in this time, so that we can win next time? After consulting my favorite Democrats, I decided yes. I’d much rather live with the only stem cell research funding going to existing projects, so that next year, I can help put more restrictions on assault weapons.

See, it’s working already.

Here’s the best thing about this approach. Just because you’re in office doesn’t mean you get to rule. After all that would be like saying the spouse who makes the most money gets to make all the decisions. My husband would not be very happy about that! Marriages today don’t work that way – why should politics?

You might argue that if we did this, progress would halt. Nothing would happen, nothing would change. I don’t believe it. You see, my husband and I both hate chores. But he does the dishes, I do the laundry, and miraculously, all the work gets done in time for us to go see that movie I picked. We just work together and get it done.

This approach would have served us very well in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Instead, I was bombarded by Greta, Sean and Larry trying to figure out who’s the biggest purveyor of deadly mistakes: the governor, the mayor of New Orleans or the President himself?

Rather than watch them fuel that fire, I’m heading out to Bed, Bath and Beyond. I’m going out to buy a matching set of pillow cases with “GOP” and “DEM” embroidered on them. We’ll have to get in bed together sometime.

Cynthia Droog is a columnist who never carries a grudge. She’s 4’10, so she can barely lift a bowling ball, much less walk around with one of those heavy chips on her shoulder. Send all Pollyanna comparisons and insults to cindy@northstarwriters.com.

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