|First Democratic presidential debate|
It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter. Please believe I wouldn't bother if I didn't care. I want you to look your best as you go out to slay the Jabberwacky (as your opponent is referred to in this household). But lately you've been looking a little frowsy around the edges. Too many bad hair days and reruns of the dreaded colorful pantsuits.
|Slaying the Jabberwocky|
When I saw you on the first Democratic presidential debate, you looked so great I wrote about it. You were wearing a lovely outfit, and your hair and makeup were flawless. I was so happy you finally hired the right stylist and/or you were listening to her/him.
I can't even imagine what constantly being on the campaign trail is like. You must barely have time to eat and sleep let alone pick three pieces to make an outfit. The Jabberwacky only has to hoist that red tie around his necks, and he's done. He can even doff a baseball cap and get away with it.
This does not go without notice. Even a male friend (who will probably vote for you anyway) said, "I hate her pantsuits!"
|Exhibits P (pantsuits) and H (hair)|
You may not like my suggestions, but I think you need to add a permanent hairdresser to your entourage. It may cost the taxpayers, but it would be worth it. You also need a stylist to throw out the crayola pantsuits and dress you like the strong woman you are, not like the Red Queen in Through the Looking Glass. Look what happened to her.