Hillary was overwhelming. I took some time off the dating game and thought about calling up Rand Paul or even Martin O’Malley if I ever got really desperate. I didn't.
Instead, I got curious. I knew it was dumb, and probably something that could sink me for the next 30 years -- but I had to do it. I had to know.
So I went out with The Donald. Sure, from the minute we sat down to dinner he was heckled. Of course he spent the whole date talking about himself, getting distracted when catching his reflection on mirrored surfaces, and tweeting. But I forgave those flaws.
I'd heard all of his major points before, so nothing was new or shocking. I just needed to see the man behind the enigma. The one thing I couldn’t forgive was this: the whole time we talked, he kept coming back to one thing. And that was the fact that he was pining away for another. It's true what they say. The Donald would much rather have been on a date with his daughter.
Heartbroken after this final disappointment, I decided that no candidate would win my heart. Well, none of these jokers, at least. What was that you were saying, Michael Bloomberg?