She gets the winter passion, and I get the dotage?
Joe Lieberman today:
“I feel they were flirting with the other guy for a while, wanting to send me a message,” he said Monday during a stop at a restaurant in Hartford. “I got their message. I think they want to send me back to Washington to continue working with them, fighting for them, and delivering for Connecticut.”
Joe Lieberman tomorrow, should he lose today:
Get out, go anywhere you want, go to a hotel, go live with her, and don’t come back. Because, after 25 years of building a home and raising a family and all the senseless pain that we have inflicted on each other, I’m damned if I’m going to stand here and have you tell me you’re in love with somebody else. Because this isn’t a convention weekend with your secretary, is it? Or – or some broad that you picked up after three belts of booze. This is your great winter romance, isn’t it? Your last roar of passion before you settle into your emeritus years. Is that what’s left for me? Is that my share? She gets the winter passion, and I get the dotage? What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to sit at home knitting and purling while you slink back like some penitent drunk? I’m your wife, damn it. And, if you can’t work up a winter passion for me, the least I require is respect and allegiance. I hurt. Don’t you understand that? I hurt badly.
Then he’ll go boil Connecticut’s bunny. A bunny, I might add, that is from a different spurned lover movie.