Apparently, my trophy wife sincerely meant the “for better for worse” part of our wedding vows. She must have a tipping point; the threshold where she erupts like Mount Saint Helens on steroids, but I have never pushed her to her limit. A few years back, I came frighteningly close when she rolled down the driveway towing our stock trailer loaded with two horses and 50 corral poles. She was hauling supplies to the ranch to rebuild the corrals and by crowding the two horses in her trailer; the remaining eight would fit in my trailer the following morning. I pride myself on efficiency, so this doubling up would get our cavy to Wyoming for the summer without any expensive, empty, back-hauls. Five seconds after she left, I thought, “What did I just do?”

The bundle of 50, 16 foot poles filled three-fourths of the floor space, thereby leaving a narrow two-foot wide walkway extending from the bumper to the nose cone; the perfect space to load two calm horses nose-to-tail. As the trailer disappeared, God tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Have you considered what will happen if the metal bands bundling the poles together busts halfway between Laurel and Parkman? She is going to whip you with a lead rope, so don’t ask me for help.” (God can be merciless if you deserve a lashing.)

I sprinted into the house and called her cell phone to suggest we immediately switch to plan B; a plan I had yet to craft, but was certain it was safer than plan A. No answer. Cell service is intermittent between Laurel and the ranch and I left repeated messages suggesting what to do when plan A fails. Each recording began with a heartfelt two minute apology before offering suggestions how to extract two full sized horses laying on their sides trapped in the four-foot space between the rolling poles and the roof of the trailer. Her journey to Wyoming was the longest two hours of my life and I left word at the ranch for her to call me the second she arrived…if she arrived. After a long agonizing silence, the phone finally rang. “Did I forget something,” the trophy wife cheerfully asked?

“No, but how was your trip?” I delicately inquired.

“Fine,” she fired back. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” I mumbled thinking back on my 15 minutes of apologies forever digitally trapped in her voice mail. “Well, have a nice day. I will see you tomorrow.” I was lucky and to this day she doesn’t realize how bad her trip could have been. If my trophy wife ever realizes the level to which she has married down I am sure she will toss me to the curb. Everyone has a point at which they will no longer accept the shenanigans of others, so coupling this analogy with recent headlines begs the question; when will Obama supporters and our national media realize this administration does not have America’s best interests at heart and is hell bent on destroying our country? It is past time to toss his things into the street.

For now, let’s ignore Benghazi, the warrantless AP phone record tap and just examine the abuse of power by the IRS. For any executive branch agency to selectively base service and audits on political affiliation is criminal, but worse yet, next year this agency will assume full control of healthcare. If surrendering the decision as to who lives and who dies to the IRS is not the tipping point for Democrats, what is? When one becomes a Democrat or journalist there must be a vow to collectivism where allegiance to party surpasses loyalty to the rule of law.