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In the morning, Donald Trump will be sworn in as the 45th president of the United States. I could not vote for him. He is not the stunning businessman that many claim him to be – he has regularly stiffed contractors and left whole enterprises in flames. He treats those with whom he disagrees with a contempt that encourages the worst in people. He did not win a majority of Republican votes in the primaries, and he did not win a majority of votes in the general election (and yes, I still stand by the electoral college), and yet, he won.

I stayed up late on November 8 to watch the election returns. I, like most people, I think, believed that someone else would be our next president. I first was surprised when he won Florida. Then stunned when he won Ohio. And finally dumbfounded when Wisconsin went his way. That was the point at which I thought, “He’s going to do this…He’s going to win.” The networks all held off on Pennsylvania and Michigan. It’s like they just didn’t want to admit it – that Donald Trump had just won the presidency, but they finally capitulated to the inevitable.

Now, that night was not one of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth for me, because the other candidate was this woman.

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Hillary Clinton. I should have been excited by the prospect of the first female president, but I wasn’t, because it was her. If I couldn’t vote for Trump, I absolutely would not vote for Hillary Clinton. The woman who tried to publicly destroy the victims of her husband’s abuse. The woman who ignored requests for additional security from our diplomats in Benghazi and then tried to blame their deaths on some silly video. The woman for whom security protocol does not matter because the rules just don’t apply to her. The woman who will defame and bully people as political payback for her friends and to cover up her own misdeeds.

So I voted third party. I agonized for weeks. I watched as friends tied themselves in self-deceiving knots as they attempted to turn Trump into a moral giant at worst, or the lesser-of-two-evils at best. When I finally came to the conclusion that voting my conscience meant voting third party, I felt absolute peace about the whole awful mess – whoever would win, would win. The funny thing is, I was condemned by my mental-contortionist friends on the right before the election (I was called the “Queen of Arrogance” and passive-aggressive  by two women – ha!), and then denounced by the left afterwards. Save for defending people’s right to make their voice heard through a third party vote, I was utterly detached from the election once I felt confirmed in my choice. It made for an interesting election night. As the results came in with Trump sweeping up electoral votes, my reaction was a mixture of shock and dismay: “Oh my gosh, he’s going to win,”  and glee, “Oh my gosh, she’s going to lose!”

And so, tomorrow, Donald Trump becomes President Trump – tacky, tweeting, bullying, destabilizing, trash-talking, misogynist Donald Trump. The left is beside itself. Sick to their stomach over it. I might be too if it weren’t for one thing they don’t understand: I, and many other conservatives, have been sick to our stomach for a long time. We felt sick when the Clintons abused their positions. We felt sick to see the presidency brought low by a man who suborned perjury to hide his intern giving him blow jobs in the oval office. We felt sick watching a left-leaning media make excuses for them both. We felt sick every time Obama, ignorant of all the facts, jumped to conclusions over and over that endangered the well-being of police officers. We felt sick when we saw our government literally stand by and watch Americans get killed in Benghazi. We have felt sick for a long, long time. To all my Democrat friends I say, welcome to our world.

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