WHAT do you do when you’ve got a stalemate on your hands? When you’ve tried everything and nothing has worked? When patience is depleted and you hear the sizzle of a lit fuse at the base of your skull?
The answer depends upon your brand of conservatism. Most conservatives would pray. I know some of you even pray for me because you’ve said so in your letters, proving that your faith is above rubies or something. Another kind of conservative would get drunk. This is easy because we don’t drink liberals’ sissy concoctions; it takes forever to get drunk on wine coolers but we can get there on a few belts. Some of us would hire a lawyer, but not many. Litigation is a liberal’s game; a conservative’s first instinct-after prayer, of course-is to slug somebody, but I couldn’t do that because it’s a man’s world and I’m but a Southern lady in it. Booze was also out because it works against my fighting instincts. Paradoxically, I’m a happy drunk, prone to love everybody and lead a singalong in “Wait Till the Sun Shines, Nellie.” What, then, could I do? There was only one route, so I took it.
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