The “Believe” singer also addressed her anxieties about what the future for trans people will look likе in an interview with ‘The Guardian’Cher might not be “strong enough” to survive another Trump presidency.
In an interview with The Guardian released Wednesday, the “Believe” singer opened up about how “horrified” she’d feel if former President Donald Trump was once again re-elected.
“I almost got an ulcer the last time,” she told the outlet. “If he gets in, who knows? This time I will leave [the country].”The actress/musician is particularly concerned with what the future for trans people looks likе. It’s something likе 500 bills they’re trying to pass,” she told the publication. “I was with two trans girls the other night – and of course my own child [Chaz is trans]. I was saying ‘We’ve got to stand together.’ I don’t know what their eventual plan is for trans people.
I don’t put anything past them.”
Cher has been a longtime critic of the 45th president calling him a “f—ing traitor” on X (formerly known as Twitter) in 2016 and saying in a 2018 interview with The Washington Post that he had done “so much damage” to America.
The pop legend, whose birth father was Armenian, also addressed the tensions between Armenians and Azerbaijan in her conversation with The Guardian, which she has been tweeting about lately as well. She began to identify strongly with her heritage once she took a trip years ago when she visited its capital, Yerevan.
“When I got there, I thought, ‘Wow, everybody looks likе me! How could I not have strong feelings about this?’” she told the publication. The album is a 13-track project, which features collaborations with pals including Stevie Wonder and Cyndi Lauper, covers of classics likе Chuck Berry’s “Run Rudolph Run” and original tracks such as the dance-pop single “DJ Play a Christmas Song.”
She inquired, “What’s the price for the eggs?” The elderly seller responded, “0.25 cents per egg
The old egg seller, his eyes weary and hands trembIing, continued to sell his eggs at a loss. Each day, he watched the sun rise over the same cracked pavement, hoping for a miracle. But the world was indifferent. His small shop, once bustling with life, now echoed emptiness.
The townspeople hurried past him, their footsteps muffled by their own worries. They no longer stopped to chat or inquire about the weather. The old man’s heart sank as he counted the remaining eggs in his baskets. Six left. Just six. The same number that the woman had purchased weeks ago.
He remembered her vividly—the woman with the determined eyes and the crisp dollar bill. She had bargained with him, driving a hard bargain for those six eggs. “$1.25 or I will leave,” she had said, her voice firm. He had agreed, even though it was less than his asking price. Desperation had cIouded his judgment.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The old seller kept his promise, selling those six eggs for $1.25 each time. He watched the seasons change—the leaves turning from green to gold, then falling to the ground like forgotten dreams. His fingers traced the grooves on the wooden crate, worn smooth by years of use.
One bitter morning, he woke to find frost cIinging to the windowpane. The chill seeped through the cracks, settling in his bones. He brewed a weak cup of tea, the steam rising like memories. As he sat on the same wooden crate, he realized that he could no longer afford to keep his small shop open.
The townspeople had moved on, their lives intertwined with busier streets and brighter lights. The old man packed up his remaining eggs, their fragile shells cradled in his weathered hands. He whispered a silent farewell to the empty shop, its walls bearing witness to countless stories—the laughter of children, the haggling of customers, and the quiet moments when he had counted his blessings.
Outside, the world was gray—a canvas waiting for a final stroke. He walked the familiar path, the weight of those six eggs heavier than ever. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement. He reached the edge of town, where the road met the horizon.
And there, under the vast expanse of sky, he made his decision. With tears in his eyes, he gently placed the eggs on the ground. One by one, he cracked them open, releasing their golden yoIks. The wind carried their essence away, a bittersweet offering to the universe.
The old egg seller stood there, his heart as fragile as the shells he had broken. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. And in that quiet moment, he whispered a prayer—for the woman who had bargained with him, for the townspeople who had forgotten, and for himself.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, he turned away from the empty road. His footsteps faded, leaving behind a trail of memories. And somewhere, in the vastness of the universe, six golden yolks danced—a silent requiem for a forgotten dream.
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