In which the quirk that I thought was all about Primo being an engineer is probably more because he was raised by abusive narcissists

This thread in my favorite blog, Ask A Manager, explains everything about Primo, who will not take "yes" as an answer nor will he give it as an answer. He always wants to explain why, even though I tell him I don't care - all I want is a yes or a no when I ask him something like, "Would you like me to make a chocolate cake?"

The Last Campaign: I suggest that Primo ask for contributions for a fundraiser where people don't actually have to attend

Me: Listen to this. This is brilliant. The L.A. county library had a fundraiser where you paid $100 and then stayed home to read a book. You should do that!

Primo: Why?

Me: Because people would give money not to have to eat Costco food tray food and not to have to listen to political speeches!

Primo: People like political speeches!

Me: No, they don't.

Primo: They like my political speeches.

Me: Oh honey. No. No, they don't. Nobody likes listening to political speeches. Nobody.

The Last Campaign: Oh! Did I not mention that Primo is running for office again?

Yes. He is.

This is not my favorite thing.

1. A political campaign means a lot of work. It means Primo is gone from home a ton, which means if I want the house to be cleaner than it is, I have to clean it, which was not the deal when he quit his job.

2. I don't mind being by myself, but I am not thrilled about picking up extra housework.

3. I would rather Primo be earning money, but - we are in the very lucky position that I have a job that pays enough money for both of us. So financially, I can't say his running for office (or, more accurately, his not working) is a hardship.

4. Did I mention I hate political campaigns?

But.

Our friend B is a political scientist who Knows These Things. The incumbent, against whom Primo has run twice, is running for state senate in 2018, which means Primo would be running against an unknown candidate, which is a lot easier than running against an incumbent, and which is statistically worth a few percentage points in the vote.

B ran the numbers and showed them to me.

Primo could win.

It's not a total long shot.

1. I want him to be happy.

2. We can afford this.

3. When Primo is running, I get to hear all the dirt - and I do mean all of it (Hilary, they tried to warn you! And you didn't listen!), which means I have interesting things to write about here.

4. More uninterrupted time for me to watch The Great British Baking Show or whatever.

5. He promises if he loses, he will never run again and we can move away from winter.

So anyway. Here we are. Starting another campaign.

PS Vote here: Primo thinks it would be funny to call this blog "The Candidate's Wife." I tell him I don't need a derivative identity.

However - I can tag this series as "The Last Campaign" or as "The Candidate's Wife." What do you guys think

The Last Campaign: Doris wrote a letter to the League of Conservation Voters when they didn't endorse Primo in his first campaign and Primo meets someone from the League, who - not unsurprisingly, because it is really Not Done, DORIS, to complain to someone who has done something you don't like to your adult child - remembers the letter

Primo: At the meeting I went to tonight, the director of the League of Conservation Voters was there.

Me: So?

Primo: Remember how they wouldn't endorse me in my other campaigns?

Me: Oh! Right! Because will endorse only candidates they are sure will win?

Primo: Yes.

Me: Did you tell her what you thought about that?

Primo: No.

Me: What? You don't think direct confrontation about something like that is the way to get an endorsement for this campaign?

Primo: It's how my dad would do it. And he would tell her she's stupid.

Me: That's why your dad had so many friends and so many people who mourned his death.

Primo: Yep.

Me: So what did you do?

Primo: I introduced myself to her. I don't think she knew who I was, so I told her I was the one whose mother had written her a letter.

Me: WHAT?

Primo: You remember that!

Me: I most certainly do not! Your mom wrote them a letter?

Primo: I told you that.

Me: No. No, you did not. That is not the sort of helicopter parenting event that I would ever forget. She wrote them a letter?

Primo: Yes.

Me: Maybe she thought she had standing because she was an environmental activist?

Primo: Yes. She wrote them an angry letter about not endorsing me.

Me: And yet they did not endorse you!

Primo: Nope.

Me: Did she ever call your boss? Wait! No! Did she ever call a hiring manager who didn't offer you a job after you had interviewed? Because that's the job equivalent.

Primo: Nope.

Me: Was your mother surprised that her tactic did not lead to an endorsment?

Primo: I don't know.

Me: So what did the director say when you told her you were the one whose mother had written a letter?

Primo: She said, "Oh, yeah. I remember."

Me: Anything else?

Primo: And then she said, "I guess I won't hold it against you."

Me: Was she joking?

Primo: I think she was serious.