Anot-so-funny thing is happening to Hillary Clinton on her way to the coronation. By this time she was supposed to be busy getting accustomed to the purple, looking forward to high times next summer at the Democratic National Convention in Tampa. She might have been thinking about what she would do about those carpets upstairs in the White House that she never got around to replacing when she lived there in that other century. Now she’s on a suicide watch.
Will she continue to die the death of a thousand self-inflicted cuts, or will she — and the rest of us — be put out of her misery by an embarrassed and frightened party and an ambitious vice president who can’t believe the prospect of a second chance at a job he has lusted for, for so long.
The pollsters, eager to get an early line on prospects for the November election next year, find that as of now Hillary would lose narrowly to Carly Fiorina, the onetime CEO at Hewlett-Packard, and shellacked by Ben Carson, the distinguished neurosurgeon. Nothing recedes like success, and prospects can change at warp speed, and public-opinion polls a year ahead of an election are no basis for a wager, but even a reasonably precocious fifth-grader can see that the lady is in deep, deep smelly stuff.