Good morning, Governor Palin, and welcome to New York!
Extensive research reveals you’ve only visited our fair city a few times before, including one fun-filled 2007 trip with Bristol paid for by the Alaska taxpayers. We think we would have heard if one of the five colleges you attended in six years was Barnard or NYU.
But not to worry! Just because the people ride in a hole in the ground, just because we think Wasilla is a new kind of sushi, doesn’t mean we don’t have a lot in common.
The 17-year-olds here have sex too! We may not kill our own caribou, but we have a fabulous meatpacking district full of places where, at least until last week, callow Wall Streeters spent hundreds of dollars on Kobe steaks.
Did you bring the kids? Don’t be shy about introducing them around — we won’t make fun of names like Piper, Track, and Trig. Sure, we’re pro-choice and anti-death penalty and believe in evolution, but that doesn’t mean we don’t give our offspring stupid handles too.
OK, one difference — you can tell by our dazzling smiles that New Yorkers never said thanks but no thanks to that bridge to nowhere: we’ve got the best cosmetic dentistry in the world. And though it’s a little sunnier here than in Nome, we also rely on tanning beds. Poor us, we don’t have them in our apartments, the way you do in the governor’s mansion, but there are plenty available in Chelsea. Bonus to being in Chelsea — lots of gays to convert!
And yes, Sarah, believe it or not, those rumors you heard are true: there is nary a Wal-Mart on the isle of Manhattan. But — who’s kidding who — we know you don’t shop at Wal-Mart anymore. Want to accessorize that $2,500 silk shantung Valentino jacket you wore at the RNC? Sneak out of those boring UN photo-ops (admit it — you never heard of those old geezers they’re forcing you to meet, some of whom can’t even speak English), pop into one of those funny little yellow cars with the lights on top, and tell the nice man behind the wheel, “Saks Fifth Avenue.”