Poor little rich girl. Unappreciated for the selflessness and devotion her life requires.

The world reels from a virus -- death, illness, uncertainty, economic distress.

And Melania, in her hard hat, standing out all by herself and her servants and spokesperson, supervising the construction of a tennis pavilion. 

Why won't the world appreciate her? Why do her detractors not see the burden she carries? 

Her dress so close to real dirt, her shoes liable to scuffs, her brow very nearly almost sort of sweaty. The pain of watching labor, without even a limo nearby to take her to a safer place with central heat and hors d'oeuvres prepared by three or four different European chefs. 

Life is hard, and no thanks does she get. But apparently the world thinks that tennis pavilions build themselves. Oh, well, Be Best, or whatever.

Melania, we don't really care. Do you?