Our brief affair with Donald Trump was like the romance between Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy in Before Sunrise, the 90s movie in which two young Gen Xers meet on a train and fall in love in one night in Vienna before they're whisked away to their separate lives on separate continents in the morning. Over the course of his blink-and-you-missed-it presidential candidacy, we stared into Trump's eyes. We talked to him about our hopes and fears. We listened to him drone on about his hopes and fears. The we realized we had to go our separate ways. Will we meet again, 10 years later, like in the sequel Before Sunset? History would suggest yes.
Every day your humble aggregator downloaded a super high-resolution photograph of Trump, one with enough pixels to make a single eye the size of a human head, allowing her to grow so familiar with every winkle and contour and smudge of bronzer on Trump's face that she felt like she'd dated him, maybe, because whose face do you examine that closely except a boyfriend's? (Maybe a puppy's? But certainly not a presidential candidate's.) The daily photo search was even more delightful as Trump has a combination of qualities rarely seen in politicians: a boundless vanity plus zero inhibition about making funny faces. Better still, he is a dude--while it is considered sexist to make fun of women for being vain or ugly, that is not the case for men. Which meant freedom to make fun of Trump's vain and ugly combover.