Ann Romney buys Mitt shirts by the three-pack at Costco, and sometimes he does his own ironing. She's so moved by their commitment to tithing that, when they give the check to their church, she cries. They both envision a White House enlivened by "little feet in the hallway": their 18 visiting grandkids. As they try to warm up a candidate burdened by a cold-fish image, the Romneys are dishing out the endearing details.
Here's one America may not be ready for: Instead of syrup, he slathers his pancakes with peanut butter.
Such homey nuggets, part of an all-out effort anchored by this week's Republican National Convention, are meant to showcase a softer side for voters who may know Romney mostly as a multimillionaire businessman who occasionally blurts out something tone-deaf, such as "I like being able to fire people who provide services to me."