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Melania's Diary
Dear diary:
It didn’t work. Maybe I should have plagiarized all of Michelle Obama’s Convention speech, or maybe I should have just repeated the words “I love Hillary” over and over again, but now I’m feeling doomed. I wish I were back in Slovenia, modelling polyester cardigans and telling our goat, “Someday, I will sail to America and marry a rich, handsome man.” I should have listened when the cow, who was eavesdropping, said, “Bloomberg.”
Life is strange. For so many years, I assumed that when Donald would tell me that he wanted to be President he was just dreaming, like when he said that he wanted to be a real boy. But he kept saying it, even after Ivanka swatted him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.
As a stepmom, I worry about Donald’s older sons, who remind me of Teletubbies dressed up as eighties stockbrokers. I once asked Donald, “With all your money, can’t you buy those boys chins?” Eric and Donald, Jr., love to go hunting in Africa and slaughter beautiful animals for sport. As I told my trainer, “They keep trying to make their father notice them. But he still calls them Thing One and Thing Two.”
Last week, I had brunch with Ivanka, and we stared at each other blankly until, finally, she said, “When I made my speech, I just pretended I was talking about Hillary.” Then she told me that she’d converted to Judaism because Jews don’t have Hell.
It didn’t work. Maybe I should have plagiarized all of Michelle Obama’s Convention speech, or maybe I should have just repeated the words “I love Hillary” over and over again, but now I’m feeling doomed. I wish I were back in Slovenia, modelling polyester cardigans and telling our goat, “Someday, I will sail to America and marry a rich, handsome man.” I should have listened when the cow, who was eavesdropping, said, “Bloomberg.”
Life is strange. For so many years, I assumed that when Donald would tell me that he wanted to be President he was just dreaming, like when he said that he wanted to be a real boy. But he kept saying it, even after Ivanka swatted him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.
As a stepmom, I worry about Donald’s older sons, who remind me of Teletubbies dressed up as eighties stockbrokers. I once asked Donald, “With all your money, can’t you buy those boys chins?” Eric and Donald, Jr., love to go hunting in Africa and slaughter beautiful animals for sport. As I told my trainer, “They keep trying to make their father notice them. But he still calls them Thing One and Thing Two.”
Last week, I had brunch with Ivanka, and we stared at each other blankly until, finally, she said, “When I made my speech, I just pretended I was talking about Hillary.” Then she told me that she’d converted to Judaism because Jews don’t have Hell.
http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/08/29/melanias-diary-by-paul-rudnick
11 replies
= new reply since forum marked as read
= new reply since forum marked as read
can't you buy those boys chins?
What is to become of me? If Donald wins, I will be forced to stand by his side for hours, playing that game where I count exit signs and imagine my real life is waiting behind one of them.
Last night I was so worried that I called Hillary and poured my heart out to her. She was very comforting and promised that she'd try her best to win, for my sake.
Thanks for the giggles.
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