Somewhere out there, in what Winston Churchill once called “the Great Republic” is the not-too-happy wife of a Republican governor or senator. This poor lass has devoted the last two or three decades of her life to the gruesome indignities of American politics, shaking hands with morons, forfeiting all privacy, wearing a fixed grin, warily eyeing the bouncy blondes on her husband’s campaign staff and trying to retain her girlish figure through the endless parade of bull roasts, picnics, fundraising banquets and state fairs. (“Try the deep-fried Twinkies ma’am?”) She has done this all with one thought in mind. Someday,...