“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a married man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a new state, in order to keep said fortune.”
Given how loudly Mrs. Trump shouted this speech from her private Mar-a-Lago balcony, a speech she had written by herself, with as little help as possible, the truth became well-fixed in the minds of the surrounding families. So much so, that Mr. Trump Senior was immediately considered the rightful property of one, if not all, of Florida’s tourism boards.
He drew the attention of the room with his short, orange stature and small, fleshy features. Mrs. Peppercorn, head of housekeeping, found him to be “rather stupidish.” Not agreeable at all, in fact, until the day he grabbed her by the gentlewoman area, an act she allowed on account of his fame and superiority. After which she fell in absolute love with him. Yet, she could not tempt him, unless, of course, Mrs. Melania was not against a good obtuse. (A love triangle, that is.)
“My dear Mr. Kraft,” said his lady over her morning cup of tea. “Have you heard who has taken the Mar-a-Lago penthouse suite?”
Mr. Robert Kraft, local billionaire and owner of the Patriots, did not reply, per usual.
“Why, my dear,” cried his ladyship, “it’s that loud, egregious family, the one with our great divider-in-chief and the lady who screamed about a ‘universal truth’ while wearing a jacket that said ‘I Really Don’t Care!’” The whole lot of them filed a declaration of domicile. It shall be quite the sight to see! From black carriages to golf carts. The Met Gala to Meet-a-Gator. Fashion Week to Tommy Bahama.”
Mrs. Peppercorn, concerned about the children, decided to look upon and coddle Mr. Eric, ensuring that he was good and well.
To which Mr. Trump reads an excerpt from a book about his own lineage, outside of a Hyatt Regency Total Plumbing, whilst holding said book ever so delicately upside down.
“My paternal origin, the only origin that matters, can be traced back to a lovely village in Germany where my father was born. It was the most grandest village in all the land and everyone agrees they have the best wursts and the most charming leaders.”
“It is sad he should have such an unfortunate family,” chimed Mrs. Delaney, fellow patron, only one table over at the Mar-a-Lago six-star dining commons. Her eye was now caught by the young Mr. Barron indulging on an entire birthday cake alone. “Unlike the other children of former presidents, who attended the elite Sidwell Friends School, poor Mr. Barron must enroll in the dreadful Trump University, studying Questionable Real Estate Dealings, like his father.”
Mrs. Williams, the quite handsome wife of a late billionaire industrialist, gossiped to her young daughter Mary on the patio of their Palm Beach Winter estate, “The eldest, Mr. Donald Junior, is quite amiable and has been managing the Trump fortune the last four years. Unwed for two.”
Mary proclaimed, “It was my understanding that he is agreeably engaged with his brother, Eric.”
During a brisk walk of the Mar-a-Lago property, Mrs. Jane Lauder, heir to the Estee Lauder fortune confided in her sister, “She is knowingly the favorite child and far more fairer than Tiffany.”
“And to think she must now go back to selling shoes at Nordstrom Rack,” her sister uttered, while sipping a spirit and showcasing her recently-pedicured toes.
“Mr. Trump Senior will, all the same, think with tenderness on her beautiful and smiling countenance, the same way one Florida cousin might long for another,” Mrs. Jane continued.
Happy for all her womanly feelings was the day on which Mrs. Melania got rid of her most obnoxious and offensive husband. The congratulatory letter which she received from her former friend Mrs. Wolkoff was to this effect:
“MY DEAR MELANIA,
You are free! No longer shall your frown be as decided as your fashion. You are Slovenia’s most stoic ornament. And having slighted Mr. Trump on more than one occasion, you have escaped his feminine hands and wretched boasting. It is a great comfort, assuming you are rich.”