The way of Xena
I did a way foolish thing, I confess. I read Elle. Look, I was in a café and it was all they had and no, I won't be going back there in a hurry.
Tell you what, though. Publishers are getting sharp these days. Elle can knock eighty points off your self-esteem in the first ten pages. Halfway through the editorial and I was a fat, frumpy failure with bad skin. These magazines should be handled only with tongs.
Once it would have been the end of me for a week at least. These days, though, I have a secret weapon. I have discovered the warrior princess within. I walk the way of Xena. It works like this:
No, I don't hate men and of course, violence is not the answer. On the other hand, standing up straight and radiating self-confidence has got me through more situations than you might imagine. You needn't confine yourself to my models, either: Ani DiFranco, Granny Weatherwax and Joanne Whalley's character from Willow have all been demonstrated to do the trick. Experiment. Play. Enjoy.
- Your boyfriend stands you up again. You are not worthy of love. Bring forth the chocolate. No. Wait. Ask yourself this: What would Xena do? What would Lieutenant Ripley do? Right. Cut out his still-beating heart. You go, girl.
- You're walking down the street. Jolly teenage boys in a souped-up car drive past and comment on your breasts. Don't cringe, sister. Give them the finger. Just for one moment, feel what it is to be Sarah Connor.
- Office party, and the lech from sales slips the tongue in. But you are Lara Croft. Naturally, you kick him in the face.
Sunday, 18 January 1998. Not called Raze for nothing.
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