I tell my little boy No. 2 that I am happy we are moving to Florida and I say to him, “You need to build wall.” He say he already build wall. I ask him, “Where is wall, where are crocodiles and alligators?” He does not understand. I tell him, “Donald, we move to Mar-a-Lago. That good thing—cabanas, sunshine, good bronzing, and big supply of Melania Beauty Caviar Complexe C6 I keep in wine fridge. No longer Prison 1600. But we need wall.” He insist no need for wall because otherwise how he hire gardeners, waiters, chambermaids for all hotels no longer called Trump.
I explain: Global warming make Atlantic Ocean rise; rising ocean make water come under door of bedroom No. 2 of Knauss House; and we have alligators swim in dining room. I tell him when I was little girl River Sava flooded, cows of Sevnica drowned, and one year later I find cowbell in tree which I take home and show Ines. Our mother not home—she still at work sewing clothes at Jutranjka factory. Our father he washing car outside. We two girls, we cry in kitchen.
I don’t tell my little boy No. 2 that I like that I not vote in Manhattan. He already going to lose State of New York—home of Miss Potato Pants. But Florida—that different matter. I can make difference in Florida. I vote for my favorite color—blue. That way my little boy No. 2 he lose Florida, and I am out of Prison 1600. I think about who be better—man who look like angry Colonel Sanders, Lady Cardigan, or guy Mama call Scranton Man. (Mama say Scranton Man is so old he date Mata Hari when he was boy.) I don’t tell Donald that my favorite is Mayor Petey Butt. He remind me of nice photographer in Ljubljana. Mayor Petey Butt can also button jacket in front. That make my little boy No. 2 extra mad.