bullying · First Lady · little stories · writing

(Not So) Super Lady

Melania was bent over in her gold-plated 70’s disco-themed White House bathroom, running her hair dryer over her upside down silky brown tresses. Flipping off the switch on the dryer, she swung her torso upright and the wave of hair flew up and over and settled into a perfect “chic governmental vixen” waterfall around her face.

“Eees perfect,” she said to her reflection.

Suddenly, with her Chanel-earringed ears, she heard ringing in the next room.

Melania snapped to attention when she realized it was her special phone– the one installed in her room specifically for First Lady crime fighting.

“Sheet,” she muttered, feeling a wave of Slovenian butterflies come to life in her tummy. “Dat’s my anti-cyber-bullying phone.
Somewhere in America cyber-bullying is happening right now. I must prepare to fight.”

And with that, she strode out of the commode with all the force of Tyra Banks, Linda Evangelista, and RuPaul at a Supermodel Mall of America Fashion Show.

Carefully picking up the Swarovski-encrusted receiver, Melania removed her earring and held the phone to her ear.

“Good morning, Mrs Trump. We have a report of some serious cyber-bullying. The American people need your help!”

Melania’s butterflies turned into an entire flock of seagulls. She was so nervous she thought she might throw up.

She spoke as she moved to a hot pink computer whose screen came to life, displaying Earth flying through space.

“Give me de coordinates,” she said quietly.

The informant called off the numbers as the First Lady typed them carefully on the keyboard. When she had the location, she paused before she hit “enter”.

“Good luck, Mrs. Trump. You can do it,” the voice on the line said.

Melania took a deep breath and recalled her promise to the American people. Being an asshole online was such a prevalent thing these days and so many suffered at the hands of bullies in real life and online. She knew if she told everyone she promised to try and help end bullying, people would eat that shit up. So she said she would do it.

The First Lady went ahead and pressed the button.

The Earth began to spin on the screen and when it landed over North America, the image closed in on Washington DC.

Melania made a face like she suddenly smelled something gross as she watched the image.

The cursor began blinking furiously right on top of

Her very own house.

Specifically–her husband’s office.

Melania’s heart sank.

But she was not surprised.

“Sheet,” she said quietly. She glanced around the room, her mind racing with turmoil over what to do next.

Slowly, she walked to her window and looked out over the landscape of the great city she now called home.

The flock of seagulls in her stomach felt like a heap of dead carcasses filling her gut. It made her sad, but she knew she was not going to be able to fight this time. There was no winning. There was also no need to change into her silver lamé superhero dress with matching shoes and lightning bolt headpiece.

“I guess when I said I would fight de bullying, I was probably just tinking I wish someone would do that for me,” she said wistfully.

She shut the lid on her computer and walked back to the bathroom.

And with that, all the ghosts of former First Ladies in the room shook their heads and Eleanor Roosevelt said a little too loudly, “What in the actual hell?”

Nancy Reagan nudged Jackie and said,

“She looks just like you.”

And then they all laughed out loud for a solid 10 minutes.

The End.