With Mitt Romney under the plastic mistletoe

The first time I met Mitt Romney, we were under the mistletoe together.

Actually, that's the only time I met Mitt Romney, which is not to say once was enough (because that would be political) but only to note I take advantage when situations present themselves and otherwise I mull and muse alone.

I was in New Hampshire for Christmas in 2008, visiting my son and family and also spending some time with Lynne, an old California friend who retired to her roots, so to speak.

Anyway, Lynne and I noted the Republican primary was nigh and candidates were showing up in the strangest places. Like Robie's Country Store in Hooksett, N.H. Not necessarily on my "A" list, but there we were because Romney was coming to call.

Turns out every candidate since Barry Goldwater has stumped at Robie's, which is on the National Register of Historic Places. You can take a virtual tour.

So Lynne and I were sitting at a table in the deli and some guy had just folded a five dollar bill into some configuration that "proved" 9/11 was a conspiracy involving the U.S. government when this huge bus pulled up and a bunch of reporters got out.

Now, you have to realize that in a previous life I was one of those reporters covering national politics and so I got a particular kick out of seeing these folks rushing from table to table to quiz locals about "critical" New Hampshire issues.

Romney traveled in a separate bus. We heard it pull up but no sign of the man.

Then, suddenly, he was there. Framed in an interior deli doorway. Wearing slacks, a polo shirt and a Ralph Lauren crew neck navy sweater. A perfect photo setup.

A spit of hair curled ever-so-cutely over his left (or was it right?) eye. He braced himself on the doorjam. He was handsome and deadly dull.

No matter how his handlers set him up, Romney was a failure at the casual meet-'n'-greet. From what I've read, there's not much improvement today.

Not that being a casual success story should define a candidate, but we all like to think we could get cozy with whomever the big guy is, maybe swap tales of road travel terrors.

And Robie's is just the place for this type of road talk.

For more than a century, New Hampshire folk have met here.

Candidate photos from previous campaigns fill the walls. Republican and Democrat. Including George Romney. His son, Mitt, seems to react to his dad's picture with spontaneous amazement. Why? Daddy - president of American Motors and governor of Michigan --- stomped Robie's looking for votes in 1968.

Now his son moved from table to table. Just a simple guy of the people. Surrounded by young staffers eager to point out various "simplicity" opportunities. Frankly, he was painful to watch.

Then he reached our spot. He looked at us and he glanced up.

"You're sitting under the mistletoe!" he boomed, nodding to me.

I saw a plastic bunch hanging over my head.

"Don't get any ideas, governor," I remember saying. "Plastic doesn't count."

Romney tried a folksy smile that turned into a smirk. He's just not that kind of guy. He moved on without even offering a peck on my cheek.

Outside the air was clear and crisp. Inside, I was devastated.

Had I just been rejected by a man running for President of the United States? Cast aside, as if my vote didn't count. Ignored despite my media employment and options to thrust him into a small limelight?

His smile never faltered. He went to the next table where a youngster named "Justice" (Justice?) waited to greet him. Above me, the mistletoe sagged.

And so, eventually, did Romney.Every people wants to buy cheap canada goose but with best quality.

The candidate, according to reports, often misses the schmooze boat. Mine set sail four years ago.