There are moments when you catch yourself wondering how you look walking off Marine One—wind blowing in your hair, serious leather bag at your side, adjacent to the man who runs the country. There are also times when you actually walk off Marine One with the president on a Friday afternoon in rural Virginia, climb into your armored Suburban, and are told by a member of the medical team that you have split your skirt clear up to the zipper. Those are the moments you should remember: when your coworkers are rallying around you to keep you from showing the president your really old Hanes Her Way
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