Trump Foes Egged Me On to Support Him.. “While walking to an inaugural ball, I heard shouts — and felt yolk run down my hair.”

Then:

I froze. Emily Post is silent on the proper way for a lady in a ball gown to respond to an aerial assault. I had to wing it. First, I yelled back. I had spent six years living here, I shouted, and Washington was as much my city as the place I now call home. But then I, too, began to crack, and the egg yolk on my face mixed with tears.

Somehow—it might have been the crying and hollering—my predicament captured the attention of a more-casually attired fairy-god-couple. These kind people must have been liberal Democrats (not that it matters), given where they confessed to working as they helped me. Nonetheless, they asked if I was all right, gently took my arm, and led me to their nearby apartment to clean off. Then they let me out the back door.

At best, I had been a lukewarm and silent Trump supporter, a Goldwater-Reagan-George W. Bush girl who had decided to attend the ball mostly for the opportunity to wear a fancy dress. But when my heels hit the sidewalk that second time, I committed: I would now back President Trump.

There’s been a lot of that kind of decision-making lately, and the Progressive Left has no one to blame but themselves.