First lady can’t be foxy

Why- Because we won't have to worry about the balance of power shifting in our own houses due to the wrong woman occupying the White House in a few short months.

As the primary process has whittled down the pool of potential candidates for the 2008 presidential election, I for one am most grateful that one particular candidate no longer holds the prospect of breaking bread at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue for the next four to eight years. My reason for this has nothing to do with his politics.

Rather it has everything to do with the babe factor.

The person I would have hated to have had thrust in front of our faces each night on the news is Dennis Kucinich. And it's nothing personal against him. Really it's not.

It's totally because of his wife.

You see Kucinich, the quirky, homely sexagenarian congressman from Ohio, bagged himself a hottie for a bride. A ravishing redhead half his age with gorgeous to spare.

The reason that I could never have abided having the enviable Elizabeth Kucinich in the White House is this: Thanks to her, middle-aged married men across America have become unduly smug, assured that just around the corner for them, too, could be the Perfect Woman. And for those of us who are, shall we say, less than perfect, that makes us look really bad by comparison.

During his fruitless windmill-tilting for the White House hot seat, Kucinich became best known for his belief in space aliens and his beautilicious British bride. The one with stunning looks, a charming accent and a tongue piercing to boot. His wife, a tall, unforgettable drink of water (make that champagne) in the oasis that is Washington politics, is perfect. With her alabaster skin, knockout figure, statuesque comportment, impressive intellect and kind heart, she is a force to be reckoned with. A modern-day fairytale princess. And she wears that tongue stud. Need I say more-

It's one thing to have a president destroy international harmony and end peace and tranquility by invading other countries and creating havoc. But this whole lovey-dovey-dweeby-older-man-hooks-up-with-trophy-hottie-with-tongue-piercing (tongue piercing!) would destroy domestic tranquility all over the place. Because Dennis' bizarre good fortune has now planted into all men's minds that they, too, can score and score big - despite just about anything that might be wrong with them.

Take for instance what my husband said, after reading an article about the couple not long ago. "You do realize, this man is living every man's fantasy. And if he can do it, so can we!"

Ugh. So now in addition to cleaning the house, scrubbing the dishes, driving the kids and washing the laundry, we're going to have to worry about fending off irrational fantasies our spouses might be entertaining about trading us in for someone well beyond their reach- Who can compete with the likes of her-

And this Kucinich guy wanted me to vote for him for president- Honey, I'd far rather have seen him hiding out in a cave in, oh, the Khyber Pass, where none of us would be reminded of our deficiencies on a daily basis.

I couldn't even imagine a vampish first lady in the White House. First ladies are supposed to be predictably dowdy. They're meant to wear sensible pumps, cloth coats and frumpy blouses with bows at the neck. They're supposed to be more like your grandma. Not like the threatening office secretary.

Plus, her presence would have brought business to a standstill on Pennsylvania Avenue.

First, little actual work would get done in the male-dominated White House world, with all those men's tongues a-lolling and blood flow gone south whenever Mrs. K. came into view.

And what about when world leaders came to call- When the French president made a pass - and after all, isn't that what French presidents do- - what could ol' Denny boy say about it- It's not like he could diplomatically tell the leader of France where to get off.

I suppose there might have been a time, before Elizabeth, before the space aliens even, in which I could have envisioned Dennis the President. But now, to me, he will forever be Dennis the Menace. And there's no way I'd have wanted that in my future.

No doubt women across the country are finally breathing easier with him (and her) out of the public spotlight. And thanks to that little space alien quackery, I think we're safe that he can't even be considered as a vice-presidential candidate.

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Jenny Gardiner is a commentator on WVTF-FM and author of the novel "Sleeping with Ward Cleaver." She loves to hear from readers at .