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My eyes and my smile. But it depends on whether I’m or going, and how deep my cleavage looks in the bathroom selfie that I spent three hours perfecting, or in the “lounging on the bed in full make-up and oops! — nearly naked” selfie, or the “at an exotic, exclusive location standing next to gorgeous gay men who I’m pretending are my Ken Doll-perfect boyfriends and BFFs” pictures.
Even though I’m a little old-fashioned that way, I’m also a modern woman who knows enough about feminism to fight The Evil Patriarchy represented by unsuspecting men everywhere. So you’d better not ever try to tell me what to do, mister! I never cook (that’s what restaurants are for) and I only shave my legs on special occasions (for you, it’s “getting lucky”), so you can think of sex from me as a gift saved only for the fortunate few. I truly am a lady, as defined by the scintillating editorial columns of Cosmo and girl-power definitions of Jezebel
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