My husband knows masses more about US politics than me, so do imagine how much he enjoyed me spending the best part of the past two years telling him “Trump’s going to win”, simply because I felt it in my vibes. However, earlier this year, he started to agree with me, which I had to concede meant a lot because he was basing it on actual information, and had the first clue what he was talking about. Scrolling back through my text messages to him, I am reading things such as: “Sorry, Harris is ‘selling joy’???? Please tell me the election anywhere in history that was won on joy because I would LOVE to hear about it.” (Sidenote: I can see from reviewing the data that I’ve really over-leaned into the sassy question mark this year.)
Anyway, there’s plenty more in this vein. “I don’t believe all this polling, I just think it’s all some massive cope?” Yet when I was asked on the afternoon of election day who I predicted would win it, I promptly said “Kamala Harris?” Later that night, on the phone, my husband wondered mildly why I had abandoned the conviction of long months of kitchen rants and annoyingly punctuated text messages. “I don’t know,” I replied. “I guess I just … forgot?”
