I Wouldn't Marry Mr. Trump

Well, the big event this week is not the inauguration but Donald Trump's third wedding. Already Donald and his betrothed, Melania, have made separate pre-nuptial appearances on The Today Show. Melania will grace the cover of Vogue in her 100K wedding dress.

Now, I don't think I'd want to marry Donald, despite all his money and lavish possessions of questionable taste. He's been married twice before, and then there's the matter of that hair. I just cannot imagine waking and finding that hair on the next pillow every morning.

Can you imagine sex with Donald Trump? Where does the hair go? Does it flop off to one side of his head while he's heaving and wheezing? Does his face get red and scrunch up? Does he wear a girdle?

I feel sorry for Melania, having to wander about all day in high heels and low-cut dresses. Does the woman not own a pair of jeans? It must be murder living as though life is one big photo shoot. Which brings me to another thing: Donald always marries former models. Can't he date an average-looking woman with a ferocious sense of humor? Wouldn't life be so much more fun?

Because Melania, as attractive as she is, doesn't seem to have a sense of humor.

Now, in Donald's defense, he uses union contractors to build the massive phallic symbols that bear his name. I admire that, especially in this age of job export and Wal-Martism. I also heard a story that his limousine was stuck on a road with a flat tire once. A guy came along, not knowing who was behind the tinted windows, and fixed it. Trump asked his driver to get the guy's name and address, ostensibly so that he could send his wife flowers.

The guy and his wife got a letter instead. Trump had paid off their mortgage in full.

So, this weekend, I'll wish him well. And Melania, too.