On Ginni-Gate: How Did The Call Happen?

My, my, my, so many questions around this Virginia Thomas Calls Anita Hill situation.

First, the most obvious -- How did Virginia Lamp Thomas decide to call Anita Hill and ask for an apology? Why was October 9, 2010 -- a Saturday morning, at approximately one hour past sunrise -- the right moment to place the call?

More disturbingly, What did Clarence (the Wronged Husband, in Ginni's mind) know, and when did he know it?

Ah, the mind reels.


Over at The Black Snob, Danielle Belton asks questions in a context that is even more pertinent -- the daily give and take between Clarence and Ginni, and what peculiar aspects of their.....relationship might have led up to the moment when Ginny grabbed that phone in her daintly "little" hand, and dialed Professor Anita Hill's line at Brandeis.

The Snob asked:


What brought this up? Do [Clarence and Ginni] just re-enact the hearings once a week to get...all riled up all over again? Does he give the high tech lynching speech before blessing dinner?


This line of questioning creates Domestic Scenarios that are too terrible to contemplate.

But contemplate them we must.

I surmise that it went a little something like this:

The night before The Call, Clarence and Ginni return from their usual Friday night Spot, the "VIP" dining room at Bennigan's in McLean, Virginia. As usual, a rip-roaring time was had by all -- they'd dined with Dick and Lynne
Cheney. They enjoy these Friday get-togethers at this Spot because that is Cattleman's Buffet Night.

So the Menfolk polished off a rack o' Southern Smoked Ribs, four pitchers of Miller (Lite), a half-dozen baked potatoes. (Dick passed on the butter and sour cream owing to that heart situation -- Danged arteries just won't stay unclogged!) The Wimminfolk had enjoyed their Endless Shrimp Special and broccoli, washed down with the best of AmRhein Wineries new Chardonneys -- none of that sissified California wines for Ginni and Lynne, oh no oh-oh! They drank only labels from Virginia wineries, the more Teutonic-sounding the better.

Lynne had cut herself off after that second bottle but Ginni -- ah Ginni was on a roll! Regaling them with stories from her recent whiste-stop tour on the Tea Party trail, and before anyone knew it, there were FOUR empty bottles of AmRhein on the table!

They parted company just after the Witching Hour: the Bennigan's manager usually let them stay as long as they wanted, but Dick was lookin' a bit peaked, and Ginni had wobbled a bit when she made her last trip to the Ladies' room. As Dick and Lynne ducked into the backseat of their stealth-sedan (driven by Twin Towering SS men in dark shades and ear-pieces. Yes, the shades stayed on, even at night) Ginni hugged Lynne and whispered sloshily, "Next time I visit the Tea Parties up in New England, you should come with me! They really do it up over there in Massa-SHOOT-ches.... though you'd never guess from how the Lamestream media fawns all over that prissy little Governor Patrick."

The two women cackled, and bid each other adieu.

In their Ford Expedition on the way home, Clarence asked what she and Lynne had been giggling about there at the Cheney's invisible car.

Ginni: "Oh, I was just trying to entice her to come with me next time I visit the Tea Partiers in New England. I swan, everytime I go up there, I feel like I have to watch my back....all those Eggheads and over-entitled bloggers running around, it can be exhausting....."

Clarence: "Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck, now there there Sugarfoot. No one in their right mind would try to roll on you....not anyone with any sense, I should say. I mean, I can think of ONE person in New England who probably would give you face full of buckshot, if she got the chance....."

Ginni, slumping against the passenger-side door: "Oh crap, not again with this....!"

Clarence: "Hey, you know what I'm saying, and you know its true! Bitch set me up! And you always act like it was 'OK," her lying like that on me. Gettin up in front of the Confirmation Committee and LYING ON ME."

Ginni: "Whoa, keep your eyes on the road, you nearly took out the Ridge's mailbox again!"

Clarence: "Well, all I'm saying is -- if you really, really, truly and one hundred thousand percent LOVED ME, you would not stand for it. You would not let her continue to exist in comfort and security, minding her own business as if she had not nearly torpedoed my DREAM JOB....the job I WORKED MY WHOLE LIFE FOR! The job I EARNED, the best job EVER IN THE WHOLE WORLD, WHICH NOBODY BETTA NOT EVER TRY TO TAKE FROM ME, EVER AGAIN!"

The Expedition veered dangerously toward the center line on the dark, back-road leading up to their sequestered estate, and Ginni grabbed the wheel just in the nick of time.

Together, they steered the lumbering vehicle into their own mile-long "driveway." Clarence's hands gripped the wheel tightly, but his breathing was returning to normal.

Ginni: "Clarence...I'm so sorry. Its okay, I got it. Baby, it is OK. Don't you worry, my Big Man. You are right. I get it I get it I get it....."

Clarence: "Not the first time I've heard that, Ginni......"

Ginni: "Well then hear this -- I GET IT, Clarence. And you best believe me when I say this right now: Mama's GOT THIS."

The next morning, Ginni tip-toed out of their bedroom at sunrise.

She had cotton mouth -- effing Chardonnay did it every time! -- but it was nothing a big tumbler of water and even bigger cup of bitter black coffee couldn't fix.

She padded downstairs, paSSED the portraits of John Birch and Strom Thurman hanging in the foyer.

She went to her office next to the kitchen, fired up the Carly Fiorina Type-and-Search-Machine, and got busy.........