Boll Weevil

…wait, I meant Poll Evil.

So I went over to the polling station yesterday to vote against Godless Communism, and of course this being north Texas, it was busier than a $5 hooker during Fleet Week.  Fortunately, there were a jillion of those horrible voting machine thingies, so there was no wait.

While signing in, I made the usual joke about my name (“girl’s first name, French last name, but this week I’m identifying as a man”) which brought a tiny smile from the 100-year-old lady checking me in, her comment being, “And that’s a good thing”.  And I prepared to join the rest of the folks voting against Godless Communism — don’t ask me how I could tell;  it’s the district which Trump carried with 85% of the votes cast, FFS.

Except in my case, of course, because it appears I’d waited too late to change my voting address (I did it as part of changing the address on my driver’s license).  So when they checked the voters’ roll, my old address showed up.

I said, “Okay, I don’t mind going over to Plano to vote, ’cause I have some errands to run over there anyway” (which I did).

“Oh no,” says Great-Great-Granny Moses, “we can just change it right here seeing as it’s what your driver’s license allows.”

“Excellent,” says I, and to make a joke of the whole thing, I added, “So I can vote here, and then scoot over to Plano and vote there too?”

Dead. Silence.  From all the volunteers.

Oops.  Then from Great-Great-Granny Moses, one word:  “Nope.”

“I’d never do that, of course,” I say quickly, trying to thaw the atmosphere, “because people might think I’m a Democrat.”

Some muted chuckles (from only a few of the volunteers) as my ballot was being printed out.   From Great-Great-Granny Moses, just a stony stare as she handed it over.

I scurried over to the machine with my tail between my legs, and tried to make up for my foolishness by voting against Godless Communism.

There are times, it seems, when it’s not safe to make a joke.  Even in Republican north Texas.