Although Mitt Romney was my dad's choice for the presidency until he exited the race, the governor's politics and lack of conviction meant I'd never support him. So I never really thought about what it might be like to have a neighbor as the president.

But this morning, for the second time in a couple of months, I ran into him in the market. The other time, I was with Georgie but he was alone, cruising the produce section of the Shaw's Market in Belmont. This time, I was alone but he was with his wife, Ann, when we met up at adjacent cash registers at Wilson Farms.

It made me wonder about the non-political ramifications of someone from my area becoming the leader of the free world: being held up in traffic by presidential motorcades, street closures for security reasons, etc. I can't imagine they'd have raised quality our lives, and there wouldn't even have been the compensation of being proud of our (semi)native son.

I chose not to engage with him either time; what do I have to say to him? Anything — political references, "how 'bout them Sox?" whatever — would have been just stand-ins for "Hey, I know you. You're that guy, on the tee-vee!"

Obligatory green content: He drives an SUV. Brown Caddie, I think. (I didn't want to stare, y;know?)