"Put a little extra caramel on that latte," I told the young woman at Dunkin' Donuts. "If you know what I mean."

"Sure," she said, drizzling a little more caramel on the mountain of whipped cream that topped my decaf white chocolate latte.

Maybe she didn't know what I meant. Maybe she did. She was a perfectly nice woman with a slight Hispanic accent, and she's no doubt used to the whims of older guys in plaid flannel shirts and tweed caps.

I'm the color of the whipped cream. She's the color of the caramel drizzle. The Dunkin' is across the street from a gas station run by a Syrian immigrant. I had a grandmother I only spoke to in French. It's America.

In Massachusetts, a lot of us go to the Dunkin' Donuts every day, and we call it "Dunk's," or even "Dunkie's."

I go to the Dunkin' once a week, and I get the breakfast deal, which is a breakfast sandwich, a medium coffee and five little hash brown patties in a small paper bag. The special is $6.

This week, I spent $12 because Dunkin' just rolled out its holiday menu which includes the white chocolate latte and a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich with bacon jam. The bacon jam is tremendous, but it's a little loose, so you're probably gonna get some on your shirt.

I always eat inside the restaurant because I like to see the people come in and out and hear scraps of their conversation. I was a reporter long enough to know the value of eavesdropping.

While I plowed through the Dunkie's pre-Christmas microwaved feast, I watched people and read news on my phone.

In elections all over the country, Democrats had run Republicans off into the weeds, as people expressed buyer's remorse for the last election. Even Mississippi is having big, blue second thoughts.

New York City elected a mayor who calls himself a "democratic socialist." This does not impress me. Politicians call themselves all kinds of things just to get elected. Some politicians call themselves Christians. Other say they're "transparent" or heterosexual or happily married or sober. Not everybody wearing work boots has a construction job.

While the bacon jam pattered down on my shirt like raindrops, I thought about the last time I registered to vote.

All my life, when I registered to vote, I registered as unenrolled. It makes you feel like a rebel.

"Hell, no!" you think. "I'm not gonna be enrolled in anything. I'm not a sheep."

Most of the time, registering as unenrolled is a lot like wearing work boots without having the construction job, or wearing the Harley Davidson t-shirt even though you don't own a motorcycle.

When my wife Deborah and I moved to Rhode Island from Massachusetts this year, we had to get new driver's licenses. I registered as a Democrat.

"It's time to quit screwin' around," was how I explained it to Deborah, because I'm a professional user of words.

I think maybe a lot of people feel that way.

To find out more about Marc Dion, and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com. Dion's latest book, a collection of his best columns, is called, "Mean Old Liberal." It is available in paperback from Amazon.com, and for Nook, Kindle and iBooks.

Photo credit: Kari Shea at Unsplash