It was a winter's day, and the frost stuck to the windshield of my old Ford truck like Winter rust as I pulled up the driveway to the Palin house. I had to ring the doorbell twice, and when the door opened, she was standing there. "Miss Palin?" I gulped. "Sorry, I was just in the shower. Are you here to fix the cable?" She asked. I became nervous. There was the luscious Sarah Palin, wrapped like a slippery banana in a white towel. Her hair still dripping wet. Beads of water on the nape of her neck. Steam fogging the lenses of her glasses. "Don't worry. My husband Todd is out fishing," she said, motioning me to come in. "I hope you brought your tool box," she said, in a suggestive manner. I stepped inside the house, wiping my feet off on their mat. "We're having all kinds of remodeling done this week," she said as she sat on the couch. "A boy just like you was here earlier this week laying carpet." "So where is the cable box?" I asked, feeling the temperature rise inside me. She motioned to a wall unit across from the couch where she was sitting. I stepped carefully across the new carpet and began turning her television to work on the cable. Fox News anchor Michelle Malkin was on the screen, talking about the Iraq War. "Do you follow politics?" She asked, as she dabbed her hair with her towel. "Not really." I answered, knowing what work needed to be done. "I've been following this surge," she said. "It's interesting the type of men who look at a rough situation and think that we need to pull out." She pulled her towel down. "Do YOU believe in pulling out?" She said, biting her lip...