Trump's Woman

The Thursday Ask E. Jean


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The Daily Quagmire

Before I was fired from Elle, the Ask E. Jean advice column solved five or six problems each month. Now, just for the Queenhell fun of it, we’re solving a problem every day—and like the famous New York Times crossword, as the week goes on, the problems get harder, juicier, slippier, and knottier.

And here’s the Thursday classic:

Loving a Woman with the 6-ft Tall, Full Color, Cardboard Trump Cut-Out in the Bedroom

Dear E. Jean: 

I'm a guy in love with three women. First, there's my second ex-wife. We had the greatest sex and tons of fun, but we also fought over everything and nothing. She's living with a guy, but she recently confessed that she's not happy, that I still do it for her, and that she'd like to "try again." And let me say, she's the best-looking woman I've ever been with.

My current girlfriend can be a serious ballbuster, but the sex is damn near mind-blowing, and I think it might get even better. Though she's not as educated as I am, I enjoy her company.

Then there's my ex-girlfriend—the most intense relationship I've ever experienced in my life. She's brilliant, well educated, and amazing, but the sex wasn't the best, and she's pretty, not beautiful. She wants to start up again.

I know I should be putting my focus on my current girlfriend, and that's what I've been doing, being faithful and loving—but I miss my ex-wife! We're so similar, share so many viewpoints, have two great kids…but then, to make matters worse, I can't stop thinking about my ex-girlfriend. I fell for her like a brick, very hard. And now that I have an opportunity to get back with her, I want to drop everything and run off with her! Then my ex-wife shows up looking so good, it's hard to resist! —I'm So Confused!

P.S. Now, this will make you laugh, but with all the confusion I can also say you're hot, E. Jean, and I'd love to take you out.

Confused, You Wild Dog: 

Men regret three things when their final days approach: (1) That they didn’t enjoy as many women as they could have. (2) That they didn’t live boldly enough. (3) That they had the misfortune of dating E. Jean.

I salute you, sir! You win the trifecta.

Your prize: The “ballbuster”? Nah. The ex-girlfriend with the mediocre sex? Nah. The ex-wife and mother of your children? Yes! Greatest sex? Yes! Tons of fun? Yes! Best-looking woman you’ve been with? Yes! Yes! Yes!

Ravishing Reader . . . . . .

And so Mr. Confused clapped on his leather jacket, mounted his motorcycle and, with a saddlebag full of Astroglide, roared off in a burst of horny thunder. That was nine years ago. Now look what happened. You’ve been wondering when Trump enters the picture, right? Well, I was rolling through my always-fascinating AskEeeeJean@gmail letters a few days ago, when an email began talking to me in deep, merry voice:

Hi again:

I never did get my date with you to actually have my trifecta.

So, in the ensuing years, I quickly was dumped—unceremoniously—by the “ball buster” and as I rode away on my motorcycle in the rain at 7am, I was relieved.  

The ex-girlfriend who I fell hard for, we email rarely, we just kind of dribbled apart.

Months later when my ex-wife finally woke up (with my urging) and left the guy she was with and came back to me—oh God, what a disaster. She was a mess, full of anger, angst, unresolved issues about us, and it exploded. Our youngest moved out, the middle kid stopped hanging out with us, and then I was called away to California to tend to my dying father. 

While there I met a blue-eyed blonde, really nice woman, not at all a looker (sorry) but she was head over heels for me and I let it happen. A few years later it didn't work— mostly my fault—I was just never in love with her.    

But there is still the ex-wife, and she's still drop-dead beautiful, funny, witty, smart, but as nuts as they come, an ardent Trumpette with a 6-ft tall full color stand-up cardboard Trump cut-out in her bedroom and a MAGA hat firmly on her head. Aside from her insanity I still love her, still look at her with desire and still enjoy her company when she's not ranting on about a conspiracy theory or how mean everyone is to Trump.  

Is it possible to break a 30-plus year addiction to a beautiful women with whom you share, yes, share obvious chemistry? Or is a lobotomy required (not sure for whom)?

I'm at a loss as to how to move forward, my heart wants what it wants despite my head and honestly I’m just shallow enough that her looks really do matter. 

Go ahead, skewer me, please, but give me a clue, thanks—Still Confused

Confused, My Man:

Naw-Naw. It’s only shallow dickweeds who don’t fall for beauty. Forty percent of your brain is dedicated to sight. Don’t you see? Your ex-wife’s looks “matter” because she possesses a beauty that only you can see. “She sings,” as Oscar Wilde says, “only a song you can hear.”

You love her. She’s a MAGA dingbat who doesn’t mind that Trump is accused of assaulting 24 women. I am one of them. If this doesn’t make you want to vomit at the sight of her and “break a 30-plus year addiction,” there’s nothing I can say to you that will.

Because one of you, Mr. Confused, has already received a lobotomy.

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Confidential to “40 Rejection Letters:”

Bring a bag of Oreos to the interview—people will judge you more fairly if they are not hungry. (And don’t forget to tell the recruiter that you want the damn job! And say it like you mean it, Woman!)


Because I know that I don’t know everything, here’s the Conflab . . .

Loving a Woman Who Loves Trump

The Conflab is where we hash over the Thursday quagmire—and where our roisterous community saves mankind. Today we are solving the problem of Mr. Confused. He loves a woman and wants to know how to “break” his “addiction” to her.

He also frets about only being attracted to beautiful women—as if there’s a man or woman on earth who is not tortured by beauty.

But back to the quagmire: Is anyone in the middle of a love affair with a Trumper? How are you dealing?

Has anyone ever changed a beloved Trump-follower’s mind? EVER? How did you do it?

I’m not even going to bring up the question of advising Mr. Confused how to “move forward”—let’s not waste our time. Most people simply love. Mr. Confused LURVES.

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Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s quagmires are easy, Thursday’s is hard, Friday’s is very hard, Saturday’s is really very hard, and Sunday’s is somewhere between hospitalization and murder. Solving problems is a lark and brings meaning to our lives by giving succor to our fellow humans.