I asked one Trump mom about her shit list, because they all have one. ‘Alyssa Milano, Cher, Barbra Streisand, the entire UN minus Micronesia and Guatemala, and Robert de Niro. I’m so glad A Bronx Tale closed on Broadway,’ she told me.

You ought to live in perpetual terror of disappointing a Trump mom. I catch myself before firing off some reckless attack on social media or using foul language, asking ‘will this piss off the Trump moms?’ Sometimes, admittedly, it does, but if you’ve sufficiently endeared yourself to this fearless battalion of love warriors, they tend to forgive you. After all, they’re moms. They understand fallacy, impulsiveness, and temptation. And they’ve got their work cut out for them. So many of the online personalities they digitally nurture are mouthy little bastards. Still, they see the good in us first. They’re here to support and help you do better.

They understand something deeper. The Trump movement is full of quite emotionally messy individuals, understandably so. It’s one thing I really like about Trumpers. We’re a population saturated with orphans. We’ve been fired from our jobs, abandoned by our friends, ejected from polite society, consistently slandered as irredeemable and subhuman, even disowned by our families. I’m truly blessed that all but the latter applies to me. My own mother is a Democrat, but firstly a Southern lady, and with all the gossip to dish each week and stories about whatever crazy thing cousin Floretta did, we don’t even have time to talk politics, which is how it should be.