Trump Mansplains Hillary

Second Verse same as the First….sorry, I’ve been wanting to say that for three whole debates now.

I watched the wretched thing out of obedience to my husband, who, for reasons I cannot begin to understand, was excited and happy to see both of these people on the screen. A tiny phone screen, but a screen none the less.

I, on the other hand, have physical symptoms of revulsion any time I hear either voice. My whole body tenses up, I feel vaguely nauseated, and I begin to plead with God to let me die.

Last night I couldn’t even really rely on Twitter to help me through the difficult time. I found that big cookie baking on Facebook and watched it until it was removed from the oven and devoured by body-less hands with spoons. I and 50,000 other Facebook aficionados.

But, out of a duty to humanity, I will remark upon one aspect of the debate that struck me yet again. Everything that Mrs. Clinton says is basically vacuous and terrifying. Her love of the death of babies before they are born makes her description of the four year old blood stained Syrian boy not heart rending at all. Sorry, sorry, do some people get to live? Really? Remind me again which ones? Oh! Right! The ones that make it out of the womb. Ok, I get it….no, sorry, I still want to throw up in my mouth when I think of your unwavering commitment to the death of humanity’s most fragile.

On the other hand, Trump sounded like a baffoon when asked about this not difficult to understand most pressing issue of our modern times. “They just rip the baby out, see. They rip it out.” Any follow up on that Mr. Trump? Do you know where babies come from? Are we talking right now? Or are you thinking about something else?

But that wasn’t what I wanted to remark upon. That little aside was the lead up to my, again, not novel observation that the complete lack of respect for the human person makes Mr. Trump impossible to listen to. While Mrs. Clinton’s voice is cutting and makes me want to jump out of my skin and run away without body or mind into the bright autumn leaves, his interrupting is so bad it almost makes me want to be a feminist. And that’s saying something.

I hate being talked over. Hate. It. And there is something intensely miserable about being interrupted by a man. There’s a reason in our house why the children have to respect me, and why Matt has to be the one to enforce it. It’s because I’m not good, nor should I be, at screaming to be heard. When I speak, silence should fall over the assembled throng of children to hear what I have to say. The man’s gentle respect of the woman paves the way for the woman to respect and honor the man. Then, in mutual respect and honor, conversation can be had and ideas can be shared.

But very often, one person in the conversation takes it upon himself or herself to talk over the other. And, to be heard, the volume rises and the tone will go down at the end of every line. This falling tone communicates condescension, belittling uninterest, and a devaluation not only of the ideas being speken, but of the core of the person herself. Women can do it too, of course, but it’s upsetting when a man does it. To combat the mansplain, the woman will pull out her condescending mom tone. But that was not so much on display last night.

Western Civilization’s ancient, chivalrous, respectful kind of discourse is so twisted between our two presidential disasters that I find it almost impossible to bear. But it is uglier with Mr. Trump. His chattering away, “That’s not true,” and “No I didn’t,” while Mrs. Clinton is speaking is just grotesque, and ugly, and shows me a lot about what kind of person he is.

Ugh. Have a nice day. Good thing it’s raining.