22 hours ago
3
An old Slovenian proverb has always been so precious to me. “Roast chickens don’t fly into mouth by themselves.” Or chicken cooked any way that is both appetising and elegant.
At one of our beautiful Mar-a-Lago receptions I had the chef sprinkle the finest gold leaf on to the generous individual portions, which were flown simultaneously to every guest by a flock of trained parakeets, each bird dyed a pastel shade to match immaculate table settings I had personally supervised over many exhausting months. I later had the honour to share this serving suggestion with her majesty Queen Elizabeth II. But I knew from my mother that chicken must first be earned.
On the eve of my reinstatement, I vowed never to forget this timeless wisdom. My skincare range must not wait a fucking moment longer. I pictured tasteful golden bottles featuring a refined White House silhouette. In Slovenia, prior to my international modelling career, I had achieved design grades way in advance of what is in the US called a doctorate. But Jill Biden is the one they call a doctor! Did oh so brilliant Dr Biden ever launch her own beautiful cryptocurrency, like my Official Melania Meme, just days before inauguration, soaring in value before her husband came near the Oval Office? She never did. Give me a fucking break.
Next morning I say goodbye to the solid gold bathtub I modelled on the cheaper Trevi version and wonder how long we must wait until the White House has been fully fumigated and refurbished with custom sanitaryware. Hard work but I am not one to shy away from interior decoration. Like any mom I hate the idea of my son in contact with items that may have been touched by Hunter Biden. The result will be well worth the sacrifice, I tell Barron when he wakes. Prior to my modelling career, I achieved award-winning grades in plumbing and premium bathroom design to add to my qualifications in cosmology, international law and nuclear physics, but my very traditional parents rightly insisted I be best with my fluency in seven languages. How right they were. Soon after arriving in the US, I founded a celebrated jewelry business and along the way married my husband, Donald.
My business acumen would stand me in good stead when, after incredible success on the storied QVC channel, I took the path that has brought me via the White House to international name recognition with my company MKT World LLC. It already offers an exquisite array of limited edition collectibles.
Yes Donald was at my side, sometimes, and a traditional wife should always respect a husband who honours regularly updated financial agreements. But my diligence and radiance were essential to create today’s historic moment. The first ever first lady to come back as a brand. Today’s Melania has her bestselling autobiography, her Amazon Prime documentary commission, and her own meme coin. Yes fuck you Anna Wintour. Do you know how many designers are begging to dress me now? Pay me and I’ll tell you.
Carefully I fix my hat to keep my eyes hidden, so stupid media will say Melania is still enigmatic private person, what is she thinking? Haha. She’s thinking you want to see my eyes, you fucking pay extra for them. Maybe $250,000 each? Last time as first lady I forgot wise Slovenian proverb: he who gives away his mushrooms will never own a cow.
We proceed to some special old-time church. What a gracious pickleball court it would make for Barron. With designated spa area. Inside the privacy of my hat, I picture sophisticated self-care amid golden statuary, cascading chandeliers, maybe staff in Turkish-style harem pants? Donald asks if my hat is meant to look like that. I tenderly squeeze his hand just hard enough for him to struggle. Slovenian proverb: “Donkeys don’t go on the ice twice.”
Next the Rotunda for the swearing stuff. I know the bibles will be heavy to hold for what seems like many hours, but I embrace the challenge with characteristic poise. The princess tries to get closer in her thrift-shop green suit and stupid hat. Ivanka is not going to spoil a lasting memory for my son. Keeping a dignified demeanour, I whisper under my hat, “let the hen kick you”. In Slovenian, but I know she gets the message. Barron sees and moves closer to the centre, as planned. At the stadium when Barron takes the ovation as his due, like we practised, I can’t resist a proud urge to smile, regardless of the skin damage. Beside this outstanding but modest young man, his stepfamily is exposed as troupe of miniature circus performers of not even the second Slovenian rank.
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The media are full of the usual shit. Forget I worked my ass off for my country, obsess about trivia. Who the fuck was Mary Poppins? Some dead nanny who wore a boater and married a fucking chimney sweep? And I happen to know Cousin Greg is considered extremely attractive, what is your point? When I finally Google Agrippina I’m like, wow, thank you, did she ever write speeches for Nero?
The state of the White House profoundly shocks me. Yet another betrayal and by people I trusted with my vision. Searching for exquisite rugs I had personally designed, toiling over dainty ribbon and trellis motifs fit for presidential footfall, the staff find just one, in a back office. Covered in dog hairs. Well, they say dog. I send for Donald. How the hell am I meant to curate a skincare collection in this stinking Biden sewer? Either I go or he moves out of the Oval Room until it can be fixed. Then from the window I see the final insult. A rose bush. In the Melania no-rose garden. Someone must pay for this and I mean really pay, in bitcoin, straight into my wallet.
