The uninvited Trump is who we all want to be, admit it

Now that Donald Trump has been uninvited from another funeral, I think it’s time we pay him his due. He’s just doing what we wish we could all do – stay at home.



Pop quiz, hotshot. Which of the following events would you rather attend?

  • A funeral for an older co-worker who actively disliked you.
  • A funeral for an older co-worker’s mum who actively disliked you.
  • A needlessly extra wedding held by some rich pompous types who’d absolutely use the opportunity to rub their wealth in your face.

The correct answer, of course, is none.



In the age of clickbait, I think it’s far too easy to pile onto Donald Trump. He’s an easy target for our criticism, and criticising him feels like the right thing to do, as it’s an easy route to progress-town. But, I think it’s because we don’t understand him, and on some level, we want to be him.

Hear me out.

As we grow into our adult selves, the number of Facebook pals we have dwindles with the desire to attend whatever they’re putting on. But, often, because of the feelings of residual guilt and/or social obligation of going to their event, because they went to ours, we rock up to wherever, and spend the time looking at our watch, or dream of that weekend on the couch where we can do nothing.

We don’t want to be there, these people don’t want us there, but they won’t not invite us, and we won’t not attend. Everyone is trying to avoid the social tar of being ‘that person’.

We’re suckers.

Donald is living his best life, outside the constraints of needless social obligation. He’s daytime drinking on the couch while we’re trying to squeeze into the suits and dresses that no longer co-operate. Yes, Donald has taken his social expulsion to the extreme, pouring gasoline on his head and lighting a match, but it takes extreme action to break free of assumed social responsibility.

He’s articulated this crusade against the self, all to ensure that everyone hates him, all to ensure that his fridge remains free of dates to be saved, acceptances to be returned, and threats of future weekends ruined. How sweet that would be, a dance-card forever clear.

Now, we might castigate what he does on these “golf” weekends, but the fact that he has the luxury to attend as many as he pleases, is the point. He has the opportunity, and he’s burned every bridge to ensure he plays alone on his social island. He’s bringing back leisure time from foreign backyards, and back into his own. Genius.

So, next time you get an invitation you’re not keen on, be like Donald. In lieu of attending, just type up a capitalised message thin on grammatical accuracy, but thick on harsh nonsense and send it back. Bang. Done.





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