I was devastated when Donald Trump was elected President of the United States. I cried on Inauguration Day and yelled at Republicans on Facebook for being gun-toting xenophobes. But then I read The Little Book of Hygge and found the Danish equivalent of Valium, packaged in a pair of warm mittens and a bronze statue of a rabbit.

You don’t need democracy when you have hygge. Are white nationalists running our government? Probably. But I don’t have time for that shit because I’m enjoying a slice of warm rhubarb cobbler.

Are our first amendment rights disappearing as we speak? You bet. But I’m hygge as fuck and no one can take that away from me. I may soon be banned from Twitter for calling our president Hitler, but at least I can still purchase as many cream colored throws as I want and get drunk on gløgg. I don’t even like mulled wine but if it means I’m nailing hygge, pass me another glass mug.

There’s a good chance our healthcare system is about to go to pot, but who needs to go to the doctor when you have hygge? I’ve been promised the good, cozy, and comfy lifestyle as long as I hygge it up. I haven’t left my house in two months, and I’ve eaten more figs in the last week than I have in my entire life. My body is half organic peppermint tea, half honey I extracted, strained, and bottled myself from my garden. I’m the healthiest and happiest I’ve ever been, so I won’t even need healthcare.

And yes, the fact that Planned Parenthood might be defunded is atrocious. I would donate if I could, but I just bought a $1500 zinc-top bar cart from Pottery Barn, so I’m pretty strapped for cash. If I spend any more this month, I’m going to start stressing out, and that’s not the hygge way.

Then there’s that whole immigration ban bullshit. I can’t. Seriously! Don’t get me started! You’re infringing on my hygge vibe, and I can’t have that. I need to focus on assembling this damn bar cart. And then I need to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with a bar cart. But the metal wheels! The distressed wood! It’s the hyggiest of motherfucking hygges.

Steve Bannon? Betsy DeVos? Sorry, those names aren’t allowed in the world of hygge. Marie Kondo? Maybe, but I’m still not sure if hygge is cool with her. I’d look it up but it’s getting close to six o’clock, and I have to light 315 vanilla scented candles before the sun sets.

Look, let’s just try to forget about the destruction of American policy, human decency, and democracy. When you have the hygge, you have everything you need. I’ve replaced CNN with HGTV and my life is so much simpler now. Now let’s bake the shit out of this rustic pear tart and browse the Goop archives.