Barack Obama is my new girlfriend's crazy ex-boyfriend

There we are, watching the debate, eating gummy worms and pickles, considering highly important matters of national attention, when I find out.

She forgot to tell me, she says. It’s not that big of a deal, she says.

Later, the debate rages on in my head. I’ll vote or die or whatever, although I don’t feel super confident one way or the other. The polling questions are now annoyingly complicated.

I didn’t ask why they broke up, or what Miranda thought. That’s her name, right? Miranda?

Anyway, it’s been fine since then, I guess. A little weird, but mostly fine.