This might sound unbelievable, but last weekend I went to Washington and met Trump. At first, he seemed rather dismissive of me, but I decided not to take it too personally.
He probably has his reasons, I surmised, turning my attentions to the other proceedings of the event.
Later that evening, however, as I sat exchanging small talk with fellow guests, I suddenly sensed a slight motion to my right.
Wordlessly, he presented me a small fabric duck.
“Oh,” I said, and extended my hand toward the offering.
I attempted to accept the unlikely token of friendship only to realize that Trump had not relinquished his end of the duck.
I tugged harder at the duck.
Trump tugged back.
This is futile, I concluded. Of all the activities I’d planned to do in Washington, getting into a tug of war over a duck with Trump had not been on my bucket list. Perceiving no point in prolonging the exercise, I let him keep his duck.
When he had left, I turned to the American lady beside me.
“How long have you had Trump?”
“Since election day.”
Well, of course.
Some moments later, Trump re-appeared beside me. He still had the duck.
He really wants me to take it?
This time, I altered my approach. No more ‘Little Miss Polite Canadian.’ In a single bold, deliberate move, I seized the duck by its bill and pulled.
“Grr-r-r-r-r-r-r,” said Trump, clutching the duck’s tail more determinedly than ever.
Here we go again.
Suddenly, he began swinging the duck in a series of vigorous repetitions, shaking my hand along with the fabric fowl between us. I simply pulled harder.
He growled louder.
But I knew he didn’t really mind.
After all, his tail was wagging.