The wedding of the Governor’s daughter who isn’t on the state payroll and the lucky young fiancé who is wasn’t just an ironic gathering of anti-government Republicans celebrating at a government-maintained state park. It was a barfilicious Trump rally:
I’d be a little appalled to see what should be the happiest day of my life forever framed in the fleeting political sloganeering of the time. If I were the gushing groom, I’d be a little nervous to see my blushing bride depicted in a wedding memento with her back to me and her inviting smile directed toward some rich and rude Manhattan geezer who brags about sexual misconduct. And neither my wife nor I would have presumed to plop our heads onto a mock Mount Rushmore on our wedding day.
But then I married a woman of impeccable taste, class, and moral consistency. And neither of us would have put up with our wedding day being used to send any message other than, “I love you.”