[Ed. – Not us. We admire her for her 34DD brain.]
I’m a girly girl. I’m 5-foot-5 with blonde hair, big hazel eyes, 34DDs, and toned calves. You can typically find me in heels and a dress or a skirt. You can also find me glaring at sleazy subway passengers and sidewalk catcallers who think it’s going to benefit them to call me “babe” or that it’s clever to say, “The things I would do to you, honey,” at all hours of the day. Cut to me dumping the rest of a scalding hot espresso down my throat and putting on my biggest bitch face until I reach my destination.
We should get something straight here. I don’t find my “attractiveness” so magnetic that it should cause men to stop what they are doing and be compelled to whistle, catcall, or tell their friends to turn and look at me. I am just a young woman trying to get where I need to be. I’m not bragging that people comment on my appearance; in fact, I despise that anyone thinks this type of behavior is acceptable.