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:
- 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.
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.
Sunday, 18 January 1998. Not called Raze for nothing.
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