I’m not excited about Hillary Clinton. My grandfather passed down, along with his amiable nature and an insatiable love for books, his distaste for Hillary Clinton to my mom, who in turn has passed those three traits down to me. A mere whisper of the name "Hillary" itself threatens to break up our home's peaceful spirit that hums as steadily as our air-conditioner. When I was eight, I excitedly introduced all of my Littlest Pet Shop toys to my mother, and I even let her hold my brown pony named Hillary. My mother almost dropped her in disgust, informing me that she had an ugly name. It is fair to say that Hillary Clinton never really stood a chance in my heart, or as the namesake for my plastic toy. Yet when I woke up on yet another scorching morning last week and heard it officially declared that for the first time ever in the United States, a major party had elected a female presidential candidate, I couldn't help feeling the titillating surge of joy and satisfaction that rushes through your veins ephemerally, like when you get an A on a math test or a warm response to a joke. But this wasn't a letter grade printed in red ink or the socially accepted acknowledgement to attempted humor—it was the first female nominee of a major political party in the United States of America. When my dad asked me how I felt about Hillary Clinton's nomination, I merely grunted in response, a show of my rebellious conservative rebuke of the woman I knew my liberal dad would be voting for. When that was met with a chuckle, though, I found myself pleased again at the possibility of a female president, even if she were not the first woman I would personally put in the White House.

I’m eighteen. In America, that doesn’t mean a lot. I can’t drink, I can’t rent a car, and last week I couldn’t buy two movie tickets to an R-rated film when my date forgot his ID. But by God, I can vote. And with my first year of eligibility as a franchised citizen, only one problem stands in the way: I’m not excited to vote. Sure, I’ll do it, but to call it anything more than a dutiful casting of the ballot would be a stretch. I’m a registered Republican but technically a moderate, and more than that I am a self-declared reasonable person, so a vote for Trump is impossible (it’s also objectionable, revolting and unfathomable). I suppose I could always throw a vote the way of a third-party candidate and give my fellow New Mexican Gary Johnson a nod, but when it comes down to it, for better or for worse, I want to say I helped elect the first female president.

Putting politics aside, (which admittedly is next to impossible when it comes to choosing the next leader of the Free World), I'll almost willingly cast my vote for Clinton. Whoever it may be, I have low expectations for our next Head of State—in fact, for me, the best outcome would be to have a placeholder president who might give us four years of stability and do little beyond that, keeping the country together until someone with Bernie's energy and Jeb's levelheadedness comes along. As a social liberal, I am excited at the prospect of Clinton extending Obama's legacy of activity in socially important areas. As a fiscal conservative, I cower in terror of the creative ways she may find to increase our national debt and the heavy taxes she may impose to make up for her spending. But for the moment, I can also trust that a Republican-controlled Congress will put up a good fight against any measures too extreme. Most importantly, though, I will be casting my vote for Hillary because she is a woman. Is there something wrong with me choosing the next president partially based on the fact that we both lack a Y-chromosome? What if the roles were reversed, and I was a guy, voting for a candidate simply because he too was a guy? Should I reconsider my system for choosing the person who will be making decisions for me for the next four years? Maybe, I think, until I remember the options. And then I don't feel so bad for simply wanting to see a female in the Oval Office. It's about damn time.

There you have it, Hillary: I give you my support. I know you've been dying for it, thinking, gosh, as soon as that girl in Albuquerque who accidentally named her Littlest Pet Shop pony Hillary endorses me it's just a cake walk to the White House!...yeah—just take it. Not so fast—you haven't gained my trust; I don't like the idea of extending the Clinton dynasty, as I don't like anything that would suggest our democracy at times reflects a plutocracy; I'm not altogether excited about you; still, I’m with you. I’m kind of, sort of, almost ready for Hillary.