Last night, we found ourselves at a wonderful gathering of likeminded parents of teenagers; and, of course, our impending Trump World came up for discussion and the pile on progressed. As frustrated as I am, I had no desire to join another scrum -- I'm exhausted; so, when the customary pause took place and the handsome couple across from me looked in my direction, I reached for Maria’s arm (to prepare her for what I was about to say) and said, "Well, you should probably know, we’re quite happy with the results. We voted for Trump." The horror! The absolute, original “Texas Chainsaw” horror that buzzed and rattled across everyone's faces. The woman across from me, a model of grace, recoiled in disgust -- her eyelids tucked behind her now intumescent eyes. Her husband, as affable and dapper as they come, shared a widescreen view of his tonsils. The teacher next to Maria -- moments before, my new “bestie” -- threw his arms into the air like a born-again, evangelical Christian on Sunday. Maria was tomato-red and nearly spit her wine into the center of our circle. It was like I farted -- a long, bagpipes drone of gas and sewage treatment facility stench -- during a spelling bee. In nanoseconds I responded with, "I’m just kidding. I swear to God!" But it almost didn't seem enough. I had to hastily list our leftist credentials. There was a pause. There was some relief.
Still, I think I was the unpopular one at the party.
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