As any God-fearing Latinas would do, and we sure know when good entertainment comes up, we sat down, provided some snacks, and turned on the teevee. It was teleserie time. DC unexpectedly just became so much more interesting.
Gone was the vote on "maybe let's debate in a hyper democratic manner in a sort of non binding way". Gone were the long and torturous speculations about WHO LEAKED (mainly everybody in the gentrified area of NW DC). All we had left was a corpse, a newborn, some 10 or so wanna be padres, a crazy judge, $400 million, a crying mother, a sleazy 'hubby', and so much more. And this was just about the burial of Anita. Then, a long parade of high-octane famous-for-DC types with 70's sounding last names. Most of them said that Libby lied. Some even flashed smiles of self-righteousness. Forget "never be the story". This was their moment to shine. The Trial was -oh so public- with no cameras or phones in the court room, the press hounds sitting amongst bloggers outside in the 'media room', and the rest of us, sulking by the screen, until the jury give their verdict. Soon, they say. Even -maybe- tomorrow.
Suddenly, a little cloud passed by. Right down Mass. Avenue into some hangar. The horror. He escaped. To Asia or the Bahamas. The only one that has the key to DNA tests. Why did he leave? He doesn't want a piece of the estate? Or maybe, in a "depending what the meaning of is, is" fashion, he wants to save his sacrosanct marriage from the Truth.
"Dannielynn" he will say, "I'm your Father."