Or a tire. Or a quarrel for the better.
I bet he's not so much into holding babies, and I bet he's never held one who's crying for more than thirty seconds at a stretch.
I bet he's never folded laundry, or handled a dryer sheet, or separated towels from delicates.
I bet he couldn't sink a 16d nail in less than ten strikes.
I bet he doesn't know what a spade shovel is. Or a philips-head bit. Or “lefty-loosey righty-tighty."
I bet he couldn't in a thousand years back up a trailer, even if his gold-plated jetski depended on it.
I bet he's never, ever cleaned a toilet.
I bet he screws up tying his own shoes and gets rudely vulgar with anyone who sees it happen.
I bet he's never waited through the whole sunset, and I bet he's never spent more than fifteen seconds looking at the stars.
..
I bet Donald Trump would not know what to do with the presidency even if he could somehow win it, and I bet on that incredibly unlikely hypothetical victory night Donald's chief emotions wouldn't be joy or exultation but rather terror and regret.
I bet he wonders to his mirror how he ever got himself into this mess.
And the mirror reassures him it's somehow someone else's fault.