It’s forbidden to say this around here, but maybe Iowa doesn’t have to be first in the presidential nominating process every four years. (When you give up all hope of an ambassadorship, you really feel free to speak your mind.)

Imagine a herd of little kids fighting their way into line for an amusement park ride. Now – and this is going to be hard to do – imagine that the American political system is operated by those same kids. Whiny, argumentative little brats who care only about themselves.

Whether it’s riding the Tilt-a-Whirl or deciding the fate of 300 million people, all of the tykes want to go first, so what would your solution be? Right – kiddies, let’s take turns.

So let’s say Iowa leads the way one more time, every other state complains that we’re not representative of the nation as a whole, another president fails, and then somebody else moves to the head of the line.

Nevada, for example. There’s a state that almost exactly mirrors the nation, if America is, indeed, 90 percent desert, 9 percent casinos and 1 percent hookers.

The candidates spend a year meeting voters in a madcap scramble from one Nevada city to another – Las Vegas to Reno to Las Vegas to Reno – and then the voters go to the machines to make their choices. Exit polls reveal some confusion about which candidate was represented by the lemons and which one by the cherries, but the process works.

Another president is elected and fails.

Now it’s South Carolina’s turn in the spotlight. Everyone has a fine time watching the would-be presidents say “y’all” and pretend not to notice the Confederate flag, and the parade moves on.

The word on the street is that there are about 50 states, so this plan should get us through the next 200 years. Don’t worry; by then, I’ll think of something even better.

Iowa’s political leaders will hate this concept. The owners of fine restaurants and hotels, too. It would cost us some pride and a fair amount of undisciplined expense-account spending.

But for the average Iowan, the thrill of being “number one in the nation” is slightly outweighed by the torrent of appalling TV commercials, irritating phone calls and TV cameras clonking you on the head when you’re trying to enjoy lunch in a mom-and-pop diner. Democracy is fine, but homemade cherry pie, that’s a treat.

You think this is so much fun, Florida? You try it. If you’re tired of us demanding that candidates pour ethanol onto their breakfast cereal, you can force them to take a stand on orange grove subsidies or alligators on golf courses, or whatever the big concerns are down there. Then try to convince the rest of us that you have come up with the next great president.

It’s a stressful process that gradually changes a state. For a long time, I didn’t know that Iowa was chock-full of right-wing evangelists. Nobody ever tries to evangelize me, not even during a lightning storm. But because of national politics and the national media, our fellow Americans now imagine Iowa as a place where enormous Bob Vander Plaats posters loom over every town square.

Before Jimmy Carter realized that the quaint Iowa caucuses could serve as a launching pad, we were seen as nice, polite, wholesome folks. After only a few decades in the spotlight, we’re seen as an ideal arena for fighting about gay marriage and any other moral issues that come along. There would be more protest marches, but it’s difficult to walk on all of these spilled soybeans.

Supposedly, members of some primitive societies have always resisted being photographed, fearing that the process might steal a person’s soul.

Well, sure, if you’re talking about network television.