I’ll be brief.
When Donald Trump’s first wife, Ivana, wanted a divorce, the headline of a prominent New York newspaper cleverly read, Ivana Divorce.
On election-eve I was convinced that there were not enough people in the bubble, (you know…those other people), to elect Donald Trump.
On Wednesday morning after seeing the numbers, I realized I was the one in the bubble.
College-educated women, Latinos in Florida, white men everywhere, heard the Medicine Man’s hucksterish pitch and bought themselves four year’s worth of magic elixir.
They pushed from their minds the vile, inexcusable rhetoric that fueled 16 months of a campaign – void of class, distinction or dare I say, one congealed thought.
Never mind that, they told themselves.
Apparently, voting for Trump was like marrying someone with flaws, thinking you’ll be in a better position to change them once the ring is on their finger.
We all have to take the blinders off.
Not all of us live on the right or left coast. Not all of us have 401Ks. Not all of us want an extension of Barack Obama’s two terms in office.
We can no longer fly over the fly-over states.
We have seen the arrogant and it is us.
There’s no proof that Marie Antoinette ever said let them eat cake when confronted with the fact that the French under-class could not afford bread. But this week, people living in the fly-over states rose up, extended their middle fingers toward the coasts and said to the rest of us: Let them eat kale.