Today is Hillary Clinton’s 69th birthday, and I asked some New Yorkers to select the perfect birthday gift for her. As you might imagine, supporters of the Democratic nominee picked some cheery offerings, while her detractors were brimming with snarky suggestions.
“A bright-pink pantsuit, bedazzled on the back: Born to be Nasty!” suggests Robin Rice of Manhattan.
“How about a dress?” asks Brooklyn’s Bob Goldblatt. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in one. Or perhaps a GPS tracking device for Bill?”
Brooklyn Clinton supporter Karen Curley suggests “an enticing basket of fruits, nuts and veggies — a cornucopia of healthy treats. In accepting the gift, Clinton can assure people she’ll continue Michelle Obama’s healthy food and garden campaign. Hillary also might point out that Donald Trump eats a lot of high-fat items, fast foods and other crap, and remind voters, ‘You are what you eat.’ ”
Her first-time voter son, Will, is a tad less enthusiastic. His gift to Hillary? “A half-hearted vote from an embittered millennial.”
But that’s a ringing endorsement compared with the response of Arthur Wellikoff of Malverne, Long Island: “I don’t think I or anyone could top the generous gift she already received from [FBI Director] James Comey, [Attorney General] Loretta Lynch and the Obama administration: A ‘Get Out of Jail Free Card.’ ”
“How about golf lessons and clubs?” suggests Kevin Quinn of Queens, a Clinton supporter. “All presidents have loved playing rounds of golf with friends and other politicians . . . It would help a workaholic like Hillary to relax.”
Other comments from those who didn’t want their names used ran the gamut from “a Nobel Prize recognizing her efforts to help women and children” to “a one-way ticket to Siberia.”
One person who never cared much for Clinton but seems resigned to her winning on Nov. 8 surprised me with his lovely suggestion. “How about a super-comfortable rocking chair?” he said. “Hillary must be really tired after this grueling campaign. My birthday wish for her is to relax and not try to do too much in the next four years.
“In fact, don’t do anything.”
Playwright Mike Vogel blogs at newyorkgritty.net.