Winging it in Buffalo

Kathy Hochul. No shrinking violet. No secondhand rose. Tight as a Lego block.

“Growing up in Buffalo, ostracized, I learned rough and tumble. My mother was an abandoned child. Dad, from an immigrant family, worked at the steel plant. We lived in a trailer. Wore used clothes. My mom had six kids. I still have bruises from Catholic school nuns hitting my knuckles with a ruler. I was rebellious so Mom took me out in sixth grade.

“No one dated me. I looked plain. Crooked teeth. Nobody taught me makeup or hair. I babysat and worked at a pizzeria.

“I can govern with strength. Iron fist in velvet glove. Glove off and I’m pretty tough. I’m Irish. Irish Alzheimer’s is you forget everything except the grudge.

“I spend five nights a week in a hotel. The staff are my friends. Last night in a diner I talked to the chef in the kitchen. And I’m used to getting myself together. Plug in electric curlers, brush hair, throw in curlers, do makeup during a staff call and phone my husband so he doesn’t think I forgot him.

“A hairdresser friend sometimes comes in 6 a.m. for touchups. Listen, things don’t always work well and I’m not as classy as I look. Eating with the Bronx borough president butter from my English muffin went down the front of my new blouse. Fortunately an extra one was in the truck downstairs. Listen, I’ve changed in restrooms. Even when I’m desperate — in my truck. The windows are tinted and I throw everybody out.

“Starting with a construction site, then Passover event, then handing out food, then an LGBTQ gala at night. I’ve done four clothing changes in one day.”

Uninvited COVID suddenly canceled my next week’s dinner party in honor of Kathy Hochul. That gala and its guest list will resurface after Election Day.

Bunny hops back to the House

COVID zapped our traditional White House event for two Easters. It finally happened this time although semi shloompier than in Nancy Reagan’s day. To quote the immortal Chaucer: Some of the festivity actually laid an egg.

Bags of the famous colored hard-boiled eggs — all fake-o’s — were rain-soaked. And after a photo-op, slow-mo Joe crept inside. America’s pretend leader took cover like his son the financier.

A zero president should handle Ukraine when he can’t even handle Easter?

And as for psock-it-to-me-Psaki, Joe’s pspokesperson. Check the fake red hair and real brown roots and whateverpslop she pspits out.

Magic touch

Magic Johnson’s grabbed an Apple TV+ docuseries. It’s “They Call Me Magic” about “great times, tough times, struggles with my wife.”

David Arquette produces. Sis Rosanna says, “Magic brings magic to problems.” Friends rave. Stevie Wonder: “He plays the game of life.” Samuel L. Jackson: “He’s a sponge. Basketball, then stricken, then comeback, then member of the ‘Dream Team.’ ”

Scores or dribbles, it premieres April 22. 

So if you can’t decide who’s the best candidate, forget it. Just pick the one who’ll do us the least harm.

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.