I was preparing to make chicken broth, when the doorbell rang. As I walked toward the door, I began rehearsing lines to engineer my swift return to broth. It was someone canvassing on behalf of Hillary. He seemed a nice fellow. He asked if my wife was home, she being the registered Democrat in the house. I told him she was not. He asked me if I planned to vote, and I told him I had not made up my mind. Then he asked if I was leaning toward a particular candidate, and I told him I had not made up my mind about that yet either. Then he asked me to, in effect, summarize my view of the current election campaign. I told him I thought it was the most grotesque in our history. He stepped back, the look on his face bearing a resemblance to shock, thanked me for my time and left.