Humpty-Trumpty sat on a wall

There's countless things I wish my wife could've lived to see: Lady Dynamite on Netflix, all my recent writing efforts, age 28. Donald Trump being elected president is not one of those things. In fact, she'd be horrified, like the rest of the rational world. If she were alive to see the outcome of November 8th's election, she would've been outraged, scared, protesting.

Actually, that's not true, we both lived through the Bush years, and we would've both lived through the Trump years. She'd be disappointed, maybe get a bit more cynical, but on November 9th, she would've gotten up and gone to work like every day. She would not have been rioting or throwing Molotov cocktails into Banana Republic stores because it sounds like 'republican.'

Together, her and I could've stoically faced the election of a bigoted, xenophobic, misogynistic, egomaniacal, lying, hot-headed, inflammatory carrotman - and we would've be just fine. Because we had each other. We would joke about how the comedians have their work cut out for them in the coming four years, how Canada has lovely weather this time of year. As long as the candidate didn't threaten to outlaw love, we would've been fine with the president-elect being an actual carrot. Am I happy with the outcome? Not in the slightest. But I have more important things to stress over, like how my wife isn't here to stress over Trump with me. The next four years are going to be pretty much unchanged to my frame of reference, whether the next president is Trump or Clinton or even that wingnut Shia Labeouf. (And besides, Trump can't really change much, the lizard men are in control.)