So Mr. Bush is going to have dinner next week in my childhood home! How 'bout that.
There's going to be a dinner there for Asa Hutchinson, and he's coming to support him. Dad's gotta be proud to have built the English Tudor that will host the leader of the more-or-less free world.
Now, I wonder how much trouble I'd get in if Mike and I sent over a big box of pretzels the night of the dinner? Would that be considered a concealed salted weapon of mass asphyxiation?
Too bad Clinton never got to go skinny dippin' in the pool at the other house I grew up in... or maybe he did :)