Let me give you an example here of what is meant by “retroactive explanations.” We have a realtor coming Friday to take pictures of our house for a listing. (We may end up not putting it up for sale after all, but that’s not germane to this story.) The house is in pretty good shape except for the basement, which tends to become a repository of items that don’t have a home elsewhere. So some serious cleaning up needs to happen down there, and it needs to take place tomorrow.
Okay. We’ll say that this afternoon I went out to get the mail and, due to my congenital klutziness, I fell down the porch stairs and broke a bone in my foot. (I actually did this back in Virginia and ended up in a cast and on crutches, so this example is entirely within the realm of possibility.) It’s all completely accidental, but guess what? It gets me out of helping to clean up the basement.
“Retroactive Explanations for Trump’s Actions Don’t Make Sense”