An Open Letter to Mr. Cheney

Dear Dick,

I know you are probably feeling really bad right now. Peppering a friend with bird shot? Must have really put a crimp in an otherwise fun day. To top it off, suddenly every one who doesn't like you is talking like you climbed into the bell tower on campus and went postal. There will be lots of jokes, too, like how you were aiming for Michael Moore. (Although, let's face it, even a man in your reduced health could hardly fail to nail a target that big. I give you credit). My point is that I don't know what the big deal is. Dude, accidents happen.

This one time we were having a party out on the deck and I decided to serve dessert. (Probably one of those fabulous apricot tarts I make in the summer. Yum. I'll send Lynne the recipe). Anyway, I get up to go in the kitchen and walked right into the glass door. And I'd had maybe one glass of wine! But there I was, smacking right into the door with my face. And it hurt! Then there was this other time when we were having a cocktail party for our friend, Sarah. I was out in the front garden showing off my prize-winnning roses and felt a tickle on my finger. I looked down and this big honeybee was sitting there, looking a little worse for the nectar, if you know what I mean. My grandpa used to keep bees so they don't really freak me out or anything. I just tried to flick him off, you know? (I'd moved my vodka tonic to the other hand, though. I wasn't looking to spill anything). Anyway, he took it wrong and instead of flying off he nailed me right above my wedding ring. My finger swelled up like a Polish sausage. I didn't have to go to intensive care or anything, but it still hurt.

I know what you're thinking: 'These are stories of how you harmed yourself. I shot a man!' But listen, Dick, I've accidently hurt other people, too. Once I thought I dropped a bottle of syrup on my newborn's head. I didn't actually but you can bet the guilt was just eating me up. And once I was in a really crowded mall (I think it was Christmas time but I can't be sure) and I bumped into an old lady and she dropped some of her packages. I picked them up of course, apologizing profusely. Which I understand is exactly what you were doing when your medical staff was working on poor Mr. Whittington. I mean, why wouldn't you apologize? It was an accident! All I can say is, thank heaven you travel with your own medical detail. That's really good planning.

Listen, I know we don't agree on much of anything. I think you're a putz and if you haven't gotten around to wiretapping me yet, trust me, you wouldn't like me much either. But I think this is one of those times when our common humanity should transcend petty political differences. And what is more human than thinking that your buddy is a quail and letting loose with a round? Could happen to anyone. Heck, I'd probably do the same thing if I was startled and had a bad heart and was carrying a gun and wasn't exactly the most beloved vice president in history.

You can't let this get to you. Compared to authorizing security leaks, ignoring the Weather Service and making up all that stuff about Iraq this is nothing. I suggest you go rest up in one of your undisclosed locations, have a beer and try not to beat yourself up. The media will take care of that for you.

Hang in there, buddy.

Your pal,

Lorraine