A week before the election, David Sedaris had an hysterical piece in The New Yorker about voters who were still allegedly "undecided":
To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. "Can I interest you in the chicken?" she asks. "Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?"
To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.
Fortunately for the United States and the world, on November 4, American voters passed on the shit platter and went with the chicken instead.
But somehow now, two weeks later, it seems some Democrats have forgotten that we ordered the chicken.
Filet mignon was not on the menu.
Outraged Democrat: "I ordered chicken, and you brought me chicken! Who do I talk to about this! I want to see the manager!"
Indifferent, no doubt Gallic, wait staff: <shrug>
Hey - don't get me wrong; I looove filet mignon. Mmmm - I'd love to eat at Cut every night of the week if I could.
But the fact is, that's not really one of my choices. Yet.
On November 4, my menu only had two selections, both prix fixe, no substitutions: the shit platter, or the chicken.
I ordered the chicken.
And believe me, I'm grateful: at least this time - unlike, say, four and eight years ago - I got what I ordered.