We’ve never met, so you will forgive my directness, but what are you doing? Are you seriously considering running for mayor of New York?
I ask this question as someone with a vested interest. No, I am not a New Yorker, but I am a Weiner, have been all my life. I pronounce my name WHINE-er, choosing the lesser of two evils, and I’m afraid whine is what I am about to do. You see, for the past several months, as you retreated from public view and licked your wounds, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Your name, our name, was no longer news. No longer need I hide the morning papers from my 8-year-old daughter. No longer need I spend hours deleting “Weiner-grams” — jokes from well-intentioned, and occasionally not so well-intentioned, friends. No longer did I wake each morning in a cold sweat, feeling as if I had regressed to those cruel days of middle school. Me and my unfortunate surname retreated to blissful anonymity.
Yes, life was good. For both of us. But you couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? You had to insert your . . . see, it’s too easy. Even I’m doing it. True, a mayoral run may create jobs — for headline writers — but it will make my life a living hell. Again. As you know all too well, Anthony, we live in a porous new world. Nowhere is safe. E-mails, text messages — and, yes, tweets — respect no international borders. I am writing to you, in fact, from Edinburgh, Scotland, an ocean away, and yet word of your possible mayoral run reached me faster than you can say “crotch shot.” My in-box is already filling up with Weiner-grams.
Edinburgh, as you may know, is where J.K Rowling wrote her Harry Potter books. I am, in fact, writing to you from the very café where she penned the first book, so I can’t help but wonder: What would Harry do? He would, I’m sure, wave his wand and cast a spell, making all this unpleasantness disappear. Weinerius Absolovium.
Spells don’t work in the real world, though, and New York is no Hogsmeade. It’s a much tougher town. So, please, Anthony, I beg of you. For my sake, for the sake of Weiners everywhere, don’t do it. You can hide, Anthony, but you cannot run.