“Thankfully, Barbara is waiting for us in the Sitting Room. It’s strange to see my college friend in this place, and I am comforted by her familiar smile. I kiss her cheek, and she introduces me to Mrs. Bush, who is impossibly delightful. As I move forward to shake her hand, I lead with my left side to keep my rain-soaked wrinkled khakis from awakening the odor of marijuana tucked inside the cigarette pack in my right-hand pocket…

Before long, a handsome chef serves us each a helping of White House chicken potpie. As my plate arrives, a horrible odor arises from the table. If that’s coming from the potpie, I think, there’s no way I’ll be able to eat. How does one turn down food from a head of state? The question is rendered moot when the president peers down under the table to scold Barney, the family’s Scottish terrier, for farting…

The president eats quickly. Apparently when he is finished, we all are. The butler steward swiftly retrieves my half-full plate. It’s decided that popcorn will serve as dessert in the White House Movie Theater.

After two hours in the dark with the president and the First Family, I make plans with Barbara for tomorrow, which usually means shopping or Pilates or karaoke and sake. I jokingly invite the president to join us, but he’s off to meet ‘Poot’n’ for the first time. He gives me a playful pat on my cheek and says, ‘You’re a good boy, Smitty.'”