She

By KP

Do not be fooled by "her" words. With the pretense of being "supportive," "she" only seeks to have praise heaped on her in kind. No, not in kind, rather in larger doses. "You're so not fat. You have the perfect body." This exchange can go on for hours, none truly aware that "She" is feeding off their praise and heaping on "Her" own false praise to keep the fires of her ego burning.

Can you see "Her" yet? Picture a late night with friends, doing what friends do. You're sitting, talking, music playing softly in the background softening into a din as you talk and sip your wine. Naturally, "She" isn't old enough to drink yet. Not wanting to feel like the lushes we are secretly afraid that we are. We offer "Her" a small glass, no more than three ounces. You know, "child-size." Hey, children as young as nine drink wines in Italy. Of course, "She" drinks it. Gracious at her inclusion into our adult oriented fun.

Naturally, in no time at all, the gateway to whatever real intelligence "She" has is closed. Someone says something vaguely witty. While the rest of us laugh either out of politeness or good humor, she emits this saccharinely cute giggle, times oh-so perfectly as to be heard above the rest of us.

This type of delayed mental reaction is oddly attractive to the male of the species. The males begin suffocating her with attention disguised as 'good natured ribbing." They say "Oh, isn't She cute?" "She's such an instant piece of ass. She's already drunk." Yes, drunk like a FOX! In reality, She drinks more than I do. Of course, She is already experienced in these types of situations as her carefully constructed timidity begins to surface with such choreography that Twila Tharpe would be envious.

"I am like so tired! I think I had too much to drink." This, of course, means the trap is sprung. Suddenly, every Y chromosome in the place becomes active as the men all fall over themselves to help out this poor, unprotected little creature. It's all "Do you need a ride?" "Are you okay to drive?" "Maybe I should help you." It's an incredible phenomenon.

Naturally, it would come across as a simple case of female bitchiness if i broke out into a rousing standing ovation for "Her" Oscar worthy performance. You can't deny that she's good at what she does.

Of course, the tragedy is that you can't tell "Her" to stop because, as we all know, "She's" winning. I've come to the realization that I've had it wrong this entire time. It was my fatal mistakes that lead me to developing a personality and an intellect when all along I should have been perfecting my "look" so as to better manipulate the dull-witted male of the species.

Of course, to appear as needy as is humanly possible is also a bonus. Men don't seem to want an intelligent, mature woman, oh NO! Men want nothing more than a tiny little rear and an even tinier brain.

All I would say to "Her" is "Keep it up!" I admit I can't do what "She" does. I admit I do not posses whatever strange things it is that "She" has, save for the supple ass. All that said, I will, however, say as loudly as is humanly possible that, were I as brain dead as "She" pretended to be, I'd have a man by now.