Anger and shock replaced by soul-searching and, dare I say, reaching out

Now that we are officially in week two of Trump-a-geddon, the people who are wrong seem to have calmed down a bit. They lectured us, called us names, made fun of us, and then were completely flabbergasted when we voted against them. On a personal note, it was really one of the more delightful moments of my life. Seriously, have you ever seen such a giant “Fuck off”? Dayum.

I forgive them, though. The are child-like in a way, coddled and isolated away from the rest of America in their two coastal citadels and the various daycares masquerading as colleges.

But I see good signs: “How can we reach these people?” they wonder all of a sudden. “They used to be ours but we lost them. Why? How? What can we do to get them back?”

“Maybe,” they are finally starting to think, “Trump is all our fault. Maybe we’re doing something wrong, not them.” Gasp!

These are all good signs.

You go, girls!