fromThe New Yorker
1 year ago"Me, Lania": A First Lady's Memoir
As a little girl in Slovenia, I had the same dreams as any child: to immigrate to America on a bogus "genius visa," to model acrylic sweaters in a catalogue, and to meet a rich man almost twice my age and enter into a financially advantageous marriage with as little physical contact as possible. I'd have my Barbie doll flirt with a small boulder, asking the boulder, "So, you're separated?" People would warn me, "Dreams don't always come true," to which I'd reply,
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