Rodham

by Curtis Sittenfeld

You will encounter boys and men with whom you think you enjoy chemistry. A boy or man will find you funny and interesting and smart, just as you find him funny and interesting and smart. The pleasure you take in each other’s company will be obvious, but, crucially, while this pleasure will make you feel as if you’re in love with him, it will not make him feel as if he’s in love with you. He might remark on how much he likes talking to you, but there will be girls he wants to kiss, and you will not be one of them.

“Every day, people beg me to run for president,” Donald said. “I think about it seriously, very seriously. I’d be the greatest president this country has ever seen. But do I want to? I don’t think I do.”

Scary how I hear this man's voice in the words.

I sometimes envisioned the events that unfolded in a day or a week or a season as a wave washing over me. The water wasn’t nothing. But it also was only water. Even if it knocked me down, I could stand again. I was always still myself, and resilient.

“We can spend hours pondering why American voters can be dipshits or we can take advantage of it.

When the race was called around 9:00 p.m. eastern time on November 8, he tweeted, Hardball Hillary, who owes her victory to me, is President. But where is my ‘Thank you’ Hillary? Now that he’s been indicted for tax fraud in New York—his trial isn’t for another few months—he’s obsessed with my pardoning him, which I absolutely won’t do.

If only. If only. If only.