Not tied in with dynastic aspirations or an informal or unconscious eugenics thing based on a lifetime of parental influence playing out as Trump and his father.
Where Trump is a puppet of his father, I mean, even long after tycoon daddy is dead. As daddy clearly intended. But I wonder what the Queen is doing tonight?
Or princess, perhaps. Tiffany. No, that's too obvious. Because evenings are a more public time. People are usually dressed and sometimes go out to dinner.
I'm not thinking straight. Armand, the personal chef, and his assistants, must cook up a feast. It's so hard to remember they really are in another world.
Unimaginable to us. But what about breakfast? Surely they sleep like the rest of us. And get up a little groggy and with bad breath and maybe a little cranky.
I love mornings. I'm actually pleasant and engaging and I like to cook breakfast for people. But I'm not a billionaire. I didn't grow up with great expectations.
Expectations? That implies waiting. Delayed gratification. They're not waiting for anything. They're there. This is surprisingly tough. Eye on the ball, James.
I wonder what it's like. And what it's like at Tiffany's breakfast table. Or if she has it in bed, brought in by servants. I'm not suggesting anything.
I really don't know. Which goes to show, again, they live in another world. Paid for by us. Tax breaks for the rich! I wish they seemed a little more grateful.
But I wonder what it's like in the mornings when they're maybe not at their best. A little vulnerable. More themselves? But the rich self is surely different.
I bet everything is different. As I say, it's another world.
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