Predictions are in. mAdBen 294 for HRC. Dr. Husband 319. Joey3Sticks 301. Nobody thinks Trump will win. Why the TTSD then? Hmmm. Bottom line. Donald Trump. Hillary Clinton. Epitome of fame and fortune. Milking name recognition for personal gain. Each would bring their own rarefied air to the Oval Office. Traveling in exclusive bubbles. Private jets. Security. Scrutinized for decades in the public eye. Reputations shaky. Dealings shady. Yup. Either way. That’s what we’ll get. A Celebrity President. Whadda country!
In order to thwart the last weekend of TTSD. And hunker down away from throngs of Marathon runners. Make City Scampi. Fresh shrimp from Citarella. Farm picked Fall produce from the Street Market at the Natural History Museum. Sancerre from Corks on Columbus.
On a perfect autumn day. Strolled around the Lake. Brought ballots to the Post Office. Voted! For whom? Hint. Stayed true to my initial instinct. Wanted a billionaire businessman who had success in both private and public sectors. It was before the tectonic announcement last June 16 of that other so-called buffoon/tycoon. So. Yes. I wrote in. Guess who.
Dr. Husband. Well. He voted for her. I’m sure. TTSD almost over.
Traumatic Trump Stress Disorder. A malady coined by Dr. Husband from which he suffers. As has been studied, this year’s seasonal syndrome is caused by the remote prospect of Trump as President. Sleep loss. Hand wringing. Combing the internet for stories which afford solace. Trolling for swing state polls showing widening gaps for Hillary. Trying to avoid hearing the next unsavory snipe, yet addicted to cable news like a rubbernecker at a train wreck.
My prescription for Dr.H? Write. Laugh. Find the humor in it. He’s not going to win! Is he?