In the world of politics, one should never be surprised at how far politicians and their handlers will go to spin a story. But the latest words out of Donald Trump’s counselor Kellyanne Conway hit a new “are-you-kidding-me” note.

Conway said White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer used “alternative facts” when he claimed the crowds at newly-elected President Donald Trump’s swearing-in ceremony the largest ever.

Conway backed up Spicer’s claim and said the Trump camp was using “alternative facts” instead of facts the press was reporting.

Thank you, Kellyanne Conway. I now have a way to explain most of the mishaps and misunderstandings in my life. I can simply use alternative facts.

Let’s go back to when I was 14 years old and trying to learn how to drive in reverse. I was practicing in the driveway when I misjudged the distance between the back bumper and the house.

My dad was furious, but if I’d had Kellyanne around, I could’ve simply told my father he was looking at the fact that the sheetrock was cracked. I could’ve said the alternative facts were that the jagged line in the sheetrock from the ceiling to the floor was simply settling of the joint compound. We should, in fact, sue the builder for using faulty materials.

Kellyanne could probably help me with the degrees I’ve earned. When I was 18, I completed an associate’s degree in office administration. Thirty years later, I went back to college and earned a bachelor’s degree in interdisciplinary studies.

With Kellyanne’s help, I could say I’ve been to college on two separate occasions and earned two degrees. People could assume I’m talking about a master’s and maybe even a doctorate. After all, the truth is I did earn two degrees. Kellyanne doesn’t have to say which degrees I earned.

Now to that speeding ticket I got in Woodworth, La. The speed limit on one stretch of Highway 165 drops from 65 to 45 almost instantly. Changing speed limits happen in every state, but this happens in what seems like 10 feet of uninterrupted highway.

If Kellyanne would’ve been around, not only would I have gotten out of that ticket, but Kellyanne could’ve probably gotten the police department to send a letter to my insurance agent demanding the company lower my rates because I pointed out such an egregious way to extort money from unsuspecting drivers.

Where Kellyanne could really help me, though, is with the numbers in my life, since that’s what Spicer is accused of exaggerating. I literally own 15 pairs of shoes, some of which are over 10 years old. I’ve never paid full price for a pair of shoes in my life, but Kellyanne could help me appear chic and modern.

If I use Kellyanne logic, I really own 150 pairs of footwear. And while we’re at it, Kellyanne, drop my shoe size from an 8 to a 6. Oh what the heck – make it a size 5. Narrow if you please.

And if we’re lowering numbers, let’s talk about body measurements. I don’t weigh what the scale states – that number is incorrect. It’s actually lower. A whole lot lower, right Kellyanne?

Now on to height. The ruler states 5 feet 2 inches. I’d love to be at least 5 feet 10 inches tall, and that’s only stretching eight inches. What’s even better is that in Kellyanne’s world, that would make my weight absolutely perfect for my height.

And my age? If I use Kellyanne logic, I could subtract 20 years from my age and be within the limits of telling the truth.

Because we wouldn’t be saying untruths or lies. We’d be using alternative facts.

Ain’t the political life grand.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

“Are you hungry?”

These three words are the ones my mother speaks more than any others. To her, happy people are people who are eating. My dad used to call her the “food pusher,” and I believe he’s right.

Mom gets her food obsession honestly because her mother was a food pusher, and I was on the receiving end of those pushes my whole childhood.

We didn’t walk in the door without my grandmother giving us something to eat. But that piece of cake or fried chicken came with a side helping of interrogation.

On a summer visit to my grandparents’ house, I learned just how sneaky she could be. One morning, my grandmother put a plate heaping with creamy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, a stack of toast and gobs of jelly down in front of me. She pulled up a chair and pointed to the overflowing plate.

“Your mother, does she cook like this?” she sweetly asked.

In truth, nobody cooked like that but I was stuck – if I said she didn’t, she’d mutter under her breath that my mother was starving us. If I said Mom did cook like that, the answer would be that the food couldn’t possibly be as good as hers.

I threw my mother under the bus, shamelessly catering to my grandmother’s ego, and then let my unsuspecting brother suffer the same fate.

He didn’t know that a big breakfast had a side helping of spill the beans. He innocently asked for bacon and eggs like I had. She outdid herself on his plate, adding sausage to the lineup. When he saw all that food, he told her he couldn’t possibly eat it all.

“What?” she asked. “Don’t you love me?”

When he said he did, she sat right next to him, making sure he ate every single bite, all the while grilling him about the meals our mom cooked for us.

Luckily our mom doesn’t interrogate us, but she’s got the “what-do-you-want-to-eat” routine down pat. When she asks if we’re hungry, the answer can never be “no” because she acts as if she never heard us.

The best example is when my brother – yes the same younger brother who got ambushed by our grandmother – stopped in at Mom’s around dinnertime one evening.

“Are you hungry,” Mom asked, just as she did whenever anybody walked in the door.

“No I just ate,” said my brother.

“I could make you a sandwich,” my Mom said, reaching for a loaf of bread.

“No, I just ate,” he replied. Mom thought about that for a bit and then offered to make him some pancakes.

“Mom, I just ate,” said my brother, a little exasperated.

Still, Mom did not give up.

“What about some left-over ham? I have some in the refrigerator,” she said.

“Mom, I just ate,” my brother practically yelled. To her credit, Mom backed off a little. Later, my brother said his goodbyes and headed outside.

Right before he got into his vehicle, my mom appeared at the back door, holding up a paper sack.

“Pears,” she yells. “We have pears.”

That “we have pears” appeal has become the tag line in every Hebert food story, and all of us keep a can of pears in the pantry, just so we know the correct answer in case someone says they’re not hungry.

Because refusing food is never the right answer. The correct answers are: “I’m starving,” “I’d love a full-course meal” and “Eggs Benedict, please.”

No matter if we just came from a restaurant, my mom loves nothing better than feeding her family whatever they want, from scrambled eggs to pork chops.

All served with a side dish of “spill the beans.”

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.