Cindy McCain is the saddest figure in this miserable election. Seriously, we feel real sympathy for this woman, rich and brittle and Obama-smearing though she may be. We read the Ariel Levy story. She's got a distant, temperamental, emotionally abusive husband she never sees (until election season!) and she can't even develop a painkiller addiction in peace without the press jumping all over it (because her family certainly didn't notice or care). So it's cruel, really, that the National Enquirer is jumping all over the various obvious easily disproved lies she's told on the campaign trail about meeting Mother Theresa and visiting her husband's Vietnamese hospital bed. You can click to read the story, though you won't learn anything you didn't learn from the Levy profile and the New York Times piece on her sad life.
She hates Washington, where her husband actually lives. When he's in Arizona on his ranch, she's alone at a beach-side condo. It's easy to hate her Stepford Wife tendencies, her macabre Princess Diana aping, her constant pathological lying, and she did make this wealthy trophy wife bed she confines herself to, but there's no joy in piling on poor Cindy. It's fun to mock angry war hero McCain, and even constantly photographed blonde hipster blogger daughter Meghan, but let's all just let Cindy go back to Arizona to be lying and fragile in peace. Ok?