Some liberal women I know need cheering up, now that they’re facing President Donald Trump.
Hillary Clinton’s bloody red-state massacre broke their hearts.
Here’s one posting from my Facebook wall:
“Today, I mourn. I am having so many emotions run through my body. Sadness, disappointment, embarrassment, frustration and above all I’m scared.”
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Here’s a second:
“There’s no honor in supporting a person who’s promised to reverse a century of social progress, equality, and environmental protection on his first day in office.”
Here’s a third:
“For the past two days I’ve been thinking about the state of shock many of us are in over Trump’s victory.”
Some are in a panic. My wife left town at dawn Wednesday, supposedly to visit her sister in North Carolina.
You wouldn’t think she’d need her passport for that, but who knows what crazy laws they have up there now. I just hope she doesn’t walk into the wrong restroom.
Obviously, what these women need is some mansplaining.
“Mansplaining” means a man’s explaining something to a woman.
It has a range of other descriptions, from erudite, cogent, astute, insightful, charitable and “epiphany,” to trite, arrogant, patronizing, paternalistic, pedantic, infuriating, irreconcilable differences, irretrievably broken, and “it’s still adultery even if it’s my maid of honor.”
While my wife’s not here to hear it, I figured it would be a public service to mansplain Trump’s election to other women, so I created a recyclable mansplaining template:
Dear (insert woman’s name here),
Let me tell you a little story about the resiliency of this great Republic.
While waiting two hours to vote Tuesday in some city where they closed polls to suppress turnout in certain neighborhoods, I saw a homeless woman sitting on the steps outside, drinking a beer right out of a paper bag.
So I walked over to say hello, and ask about her.
“They didn’t let you vote here, did they?” I asked. “Because you sure as hell can’t establish residency, and you’re probably a convicted felon, too. Plus you’re drinking in public, which violates probation. Let’s see some ID.”
But it turned out I was wrong.
It turned out not only was she not homeless, she was an undercover poll watcher for the Philadelphia Freedom Militia, and she Tased me in the groin when I tried to pat her down.
As I lay writhing, she broke the beer bottle on the sidewalk and held the jagged edge to my throat.
That’s when I remembered an important lesson:
Things are not always what they seem.
Appearances can be deceiving, so maybe Donald Trump is not just a creepy orange clown in a dark suit who’s going to grab you by the. …
Well, appearances can be deceiving, anyway, so maybe anything nasty of women Trump said was just locker-room talk.
This is not the end of the world, as we know it, despite all the signs. In fact nuclear war is even more unlikely now that Trump and Putin will be hanging out together, possibly at the gym.
Maybe North Korea’s Sony-hacking Kim Young Hung or whoever will join them, and they’ll all be big buds. (Wink nudge.)
Until then, we shall carry on. “Carry on” meaning man up and grow a pair and stay the course, not whatever you’re doing.
Life is not fair. You have to roll with the punches, ride the storm out when the chips are down, and win one for the Gipper. You have to put up or shut up, and know when to hold ‘em. (That’s what she said.)
Sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you. Sometimes you break the glass ceiling, sometimes you’re just a bug on the windshield of a long, black limousine.
Wait while I laugh at my own joke:
Ha ha! I’m going to make that a meme with Hillary’s picture and post it to Facebook! Ha ha ha! Get it?
You do? Really? Are you sure? Because you’re not smiling.
So anyway, that’s the resiliency of this great Republic:
It may rise or fall, and it may bend, slightly to the left or far to the right, but it will not break.
So let’s get back on it.
(That’s what she said.)