I ate tuna casserole on the night Hillary Clinton ruined another wedding to ex-husband David. She insisted that I decorate my cake topper with pix and poems about daughter Chelsea. I tried to please her; re-worked that damn cake topper multiple times. I even arrived at a breathtaking cathedral early, dressed in elaborate wedding finery–then hid from guests while reworking that awful cake topper. Married in a cathedral? Wielding a glue gun wearing a 20-foot veil? Hiding to avoid Hillary’s wrath? I suspect a therapist would have a ball interpreting this nightmare, but I’m blaming it on the tuna.