I heard the headline. A woman, TV Show Host E. Jean Carroll, accused the President of rape in her new book, What Do I We Need Men For? A Modest Proposal. I thought it would be the story of the day. It wasn’t.
How far has the country gone into a sort of degeneration in which these types of events no longer surprise us? Is the just a Trump phenomenon or a new normal?
The assault Ms. Carroll describes is so graphic that I would prefer not to write about it in its entirety this blog post. One can read about it here. Suffice it to say it seems to follow Trump’s modus operandi.
I try to push him off with my one free hand — for some reason, I keep holding my purse with the other — and I finally get a knee up high enough to push him out and off and I turn, open the door, and run out of the dressing room.
The whole episode lasts no more than three minutes. I do not believe he ejaculates. I don’t remember if any person or attendant is now in the lingerie department. I don’t remember if I run for the elevator or if I take the slow ride down on the escalator. As soon as I land on the main floor, I run through the store and out the door — I don’t recall which door — and find myself outside on Fifth Avenue. And that was my last hideous man. The Donna Karan coatdress still hangs on the back of my closet door, unworn and unlaundered since that evening.
It is hard to believe that an accusation this serious was not taking a bit more seriously. Yes, President Trump was asked a few questions. But ultimately the story never got the traction it would have had the President had the name, Obama.