Some of us don’t get to vote on Super Tuesday.

I love to vote. I remember my mom taking us to the polls with her when we were little. Sometimes she even let us pull the levers or hang the chads or whatever. While I wouldn’t call myself a hugely patriotic person, the elections in Kenya have made me realize how proud I am to live in a country where the results of an election can be contested and debated without bloodshed. I have thought about that a lot since Christmas, and it’s kind of an amazing thing. The cynical part of me that I inherited from my dad isn’t always sure that my vote actually does count, but I sure do like casting it. I especially like the sticker that I get. And the respectful looks that the people give me because of my sticker.

Which is why I got up an hour early this morning to go and vote. Mike even got up with me, and we got to the polls around 6:45. There was no line. There was no hassle. I will miss our polling place. If our house ever sells. Perhaps I will still be voting here in 2020. In which case: I am kind of over you, polling place. Sure, you have nice friendly old people and no wait, but you are not exactly where I want to be.

That was a somewhat depressing turn to that last paragraph. Back to voting! And the sticker that makes all the tired feelings worth it! I am going to let you in on a secret: Early voting is so convenient, but I never do it because I really really want that sticker on election day.

I voted.

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