The Trump presidency is a little like having a dog. Every day that passes, you love the dog more and more until it seems impossible to love her any more.

But — sadly — every day also brings that nagging dread that one day she will be gone, seven times sooner than she should. What will we do when it is all over? There will never be another dog like her (sad face).

Of course, the puritanical schoolmarms of the political press went absolutely bonkers over Mr. Trump’s broadside of their fellow travelers. They scolded him that his Twitter missives were beneath the office of the president.

Really, you mean like molesting an intern in the Oval Office? “Presidential” like that?