when orange boy won

…was something nice at the start of the evening — velvet bellbottoms and suede ankle boots for my election night party. A chic leather belt. Earrings and lipstick. Swirly hair. As things started to degenerate, so did my outfit — Cinderella and the good fairy in reverse. The bells were replaced with cheesy grey sweatpants, the boots with shuffle-round-the-house-slippers. The lipstick was chewed off and – in a final ceremonial act of defeat – the earrings removed and laid out in their small leather casket.

I went to bed at 4am with a wine headache and a sense of foreboding: the state of mind shared by at least 50% of the world’s population when they crawled into their beds.

When I woke up though, the bank of fear had lifted. To my surprise, what I was feeling was interest. Fascination, even. For good or bad, the status quo has been turned inside out and what’s about to happen will be very new. Possibly disastrous –if we’re very lucky, only temporarily so — but definitely very different.

It’s less that the lunatics are taking over the asylum, than the clowns will be running the circus. And the big orange clown will be the one in charge. He’ll have to oversee everything — from taking admission to booking the performances and breaking up the fights in the tiger cage. And the fun is in the fact he just can’t do it! That’s why this show will be so can’t-miss compelling — car-crash comedy we’ll be watching with our hands over our eyes, our fingers parted just enough to let us peek at the antics. With Obama we had eight years of extreme cool. With orange boy, we’re sure to get four fun filled years of pratfalls and pie throwing.

Who doesn’t love a circus?

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