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Lara Trump Whines That as RNC Co-Chair She Has a VERY Serious Dilemma: She Must ‘Find 4 Outfits’ For the Convention!

Just when you think she's faded into the background, Lara Trump is back with more idiocy.

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Lara Trump, wife of The Dumbest Trump™, Eric, has a really big problem. I mean, I know that her father-in-law has to convince enough people that he’s not a criminal rapist that he can with the presidency, but this is YUGE.

She has to figure out what she’s going to wear at the nominating convention in Milwaukee. And she’s like, a somebody with this whole thing, since she’s like, co-boss or something, so she has to look her best.

In her latest podcast, the Tom Petty wannabe lamented her ordeal:

“I’m trying right now to figure out what the heck I’m wearing to this convention next week,” she moaned. “I mean, you know, I gotta be there for the whole thing — four days! I’ve gotta find four outfits.”

Why, what EVER will you do, Miss Lara?

God knows she’s positively up to her elbows in paperwork and filings and making sure the building security is up to code and that the protests won’t cause too much distraction…

Okay, just kidding. She’s having lunch with the other bigwigs in the RNC while they rub their hands together like Bond villains as they wait for Biden to be eaten by sharks.

“Anyway, I guess I’ll get there,” Lara said, pulling herself together like the stoic wife of an important man. “Let’s see what I look like at the convention. Hopefully decent. Well, we’ll report back on that.”

Yes, Lara. We’ll be waiting with bated breath for YOU to “report back” on how YOU looked at the convention. I truly hope that you can find your way out of your giant walk-in closet with four cute but sensible outfits (or ones that show cleavage, probably) in time to catch the plane to Wisconsin.

Gosh, what do they wear in Wisconsin these days? I have a feeling the dress she wore on New Year’s Eye at Mar-a-Lago won’t work, but who knows?

Is she supposed to dress for the weather? The local style? The sensibilities of the attendees? I mean, the complications here are absolutely endless. HOW is she supposed to get herself in order before the 15th?

I guess we’ll find out when she “reports back” to us. In the meantime, for your viewing pleasure:

Andrew Simpson
meet the author

Andrew is a dark blue speck in deep red Central Washington, writing with the conviction of 18 years at the keyboard and too much politics to even stand. When not furiously stabbing the keys on breaking news stories, he writes poetry, prose, essays, haiku, lectures, stories for grief therapy, wedding ceremonies, detailed instructions on making doughnuts from canned biscuit dough (more sugar than cinnamon — duh), and equations to determine the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow. A girlfriend, a dog, two cats, and two birds round out the equation, and in his spare time, Drewbear likes to imagine what it must be like to have spare time.

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