I didn’t think the name Condoleezza Rice would ever cross my lips again. Well, it hasn’t, but I didn’t think I’d ever type it again. Neither her name, nor that of her twin sister, Condoqueesha, who I’ve always enjoyed discussing.

There are quite a few others I may never mention again — Dick Cheney, Don Rumsfeld, Alberto Gonzales, Micheal Chertoff. And it’s not because I think they’re unmentionable, but I doubt any of them will do something worth mentioning again. Except die. Unfair as it may seem, I believe most of these people will rate obituaries.

But Condoleezza. I will forget her by stages. The first thing that will go will be spelling of her name, because it was the last thing I acquired. Single “l”, double “e”, double “z”. I will soon forget her Five Core Elements of Transformational Diplomacy. Next, I will forget that she was an administrator at Stanford. After that, that she was a pianist who once performed with cellsit Yoyo Ma. I will even forget she said, in regards to WMD, “We don’t want the smoking gun to be a mushroom cloud.”

But I will never forget her slip of the tongue. She had just finished eating dinner with the president and his wife, and in the interview that followed, she said, “As I was telling my husb…” Condi suddenly stopped herself mid-word. Evidently, she realized she was not married.

So, she got everything she wanted in life except…well, I certainly don’t want to type that man’s name again.