Sometimes I want to shut up, when I remember that quiet somehow equals mysterious and mysterious somehow equals sexy. When I remember that certain slim, tall, brown-haired girls are quiet and how everybody loves them.

And maybe I should shut up, and sometimes I have (but only when I've wanted to)... but I'll never be able to close my mouth long enough to have boys write bad poetry about me.

Or have someone say there's something so mysterious about me and, "what's behind those deep green eyes of yours?".

But my friends are my own. I did not lure them with the false promise of a long leg and flash of tit.

And when I wax poetic on the function of hierarchy in beauty product quality-comparison (Covergirl vs L'Oreal), do not bother rolling those pretty and oh-so-mysterious eyes at me.

(I appreciate how cranky you must be, how frustrating it is to be adored.)

But I am no threat to you and your small, perky tits (-- the kind that make boys say 'anything more than a handful is a waste' uh-huh. sure.)

Just ignore me and concentrate on being mysterious. It's that simple.