Janet Romney had seen enough! The Bain accusations, the tax return kerfuffle, and the media’s rapacious search for the “truth” were reasons enough to come out of hiding.
But now sister-wife Ann Romney was being cast to the sharks. “When will it end, darn it?” Janet fumed as she watched Ann stumble badly on Good Morning America. “I can’t keep quiet any longer!”
Janet’s twin teen daughters, Sara and Tara, looked at their mother in disbelief. “Mom! We’ve had to keep quiet all our lives,” Tara exclaimed. “We can’t be outed now.”
“Listen girls,” Janet intoned through very white clenched teeth, “Your father needs me. What kind of wife would I be if I left him hanging in the wind? There’s strength in numbers.”
Calls were made to Salt Lake City, Utah TV and radio stations. Four hours later, standing in front of a music stand on her well-manicured lawn, Janet Romney began her prepared remarks before a dumbfounded crowd of reporters, neighbors and lookie-loos.
“Hello. My name is Janet Romney. I am Mitt Romney’s second wife. We live the Mormon principle of plural marriage and have two lovely daughters named Tara and Sara. They’re twins. I guess we believe in plural children too!”
Janet giggled. Others would have giggled or guffawed, but that’s difficult to do when your jaw has distended like a boa constrictor’s.
“I stand here today in support of my husband because I believe that the liberal media is distorting his…”
The chaos began. “You’re Mitt’s second wife???” screamed one reporter. Another: “Mitt Romney is a polygamist?” And another: “Get the fuck out! Are you fucking serious?”
Janet Romney, besieged by an army of unfriendlies and their cacophony of hostile questions, stood at her makeshift podium trying not to vomit. A small bubbling rivulet of spittle ran across her chin as several TV cameramen rushed towards her, hoping to get the closest look possible.
“I think Mitt has released all the financial statements that he has to!” Janet cried. “He has nothing to hide.”
One smartass reporter from KTVX-TV called out, “I guess he’s released more wives now than tax returns!”
The phalanx of reporters rushed in and the cameras moved in even tighter as Janet tried desperately not to soil her crisp white pants from H&M.
“The issue here should not be Mitt’s home life,” Janet shouted, “but rather the terrible job Barack O…
“Why are we just learning this now?”
“How long do you think you could’ve kept this secret?”
“Can we speak to your daughters?”
“Does Mitt sleep more often with you or with Ann?”
“Is there such a thing as a second First Lady?
Janet had no answers. She held tightly to the music stand as the barrage of questions hit her like an AK-47.
“Glerg,” she sputtered. “Smorp.”
Tara and Sara, who’d been hiding in the house, burst from the front door, grabbed their mother by the arms and dragged her back inside. The gaggle of reporters followed, their rat-a-tat inquiries undeterred by the heavy oak door slammed in their faces.
“You can’t hide anymore, Mrs. Romney!”
On the other side of town, two women watched their flat-screen TV in horror.
“Yeah, let’s not do that,” whispered sister-wife Carla Romney. Sister-wife Rhonda Romney could only nod her head.
