Ingredients for this My Time: vinyl clothing, a small town, being "still in my 20s"
At My Time we believe in a lady's prerogative to have personal space. But, when a lady goes out in public, she must comply with societal standards, and that means looking elegant. As you can see, men prefer and flock to elegance, the cameras come out, suddenly you are the commissioner of some important organization, suddenly swarthy and translucent men alike want to be near you, the world is yours, the world, the world is saying, "Dagmer, remember your 20s? Remember when your power source (vagina) was the flag of a small company of 100-200 members? Remember the elegance, the photo shoots, the swarthdom and see-through skin of men always posing or looking on at you:"
The right amount of alcohol splash on a bra really brings them calling. We women know about "perfumes," just as we know in our 20s to place the "attention ring" on the finger of the left hand just right to the MARRIAGE FINGER to add an elegance that men read as intrigue, or what they might say as "I better hit that before it done got hit for good. I like girl, girl good" before they leave you, saying something like, "I just can't be in a relationship right now. I need to work on me" and marry the next woman they meet. Oh, the romping of one's 20s! Now, in other decades, if still with a gloriously winter wonderland womb and the name of our fathers--the names of ghosts--men who don't even exist anymore, we move that ring one place left to the ACTUAL FINGER to subconsciously impress upon the men the possibilities they are missing. My recently made couture ring sends dolphin sonic waves and flashes once every 3.5 seconds. Not enough to make a man have a seizure, but enough to hypnotize his hilarious, privileged discomfort enough to turn his eyes downward where the left hand rests on the crossed knee, ever so close to the Arctic Circle For Children of my body. Oh, Honey, they are ever so easy to poke and see in their subconscious, aren't they? Hold on...pouring some of mommy's special medicine (yes I'm a mother, I HAVE SEVERAL FELINES)...
Remembering these important girlish charms of my 20s made me devastated to read that a fine, elegant woman who is only 28 (seriously, she says she's 28. Compare a picture of your much older self to hers) is being left out of important clubbing events that could lead to her owning a small company whose emblem is a vinyl-laden sex organ of a woman in her 20s only because she wishes to dress in a way that shows the world that, indeed, her father is long gone, and it's time to take another man's name, for without a living man's name, who are we women? (well, obviously we are a lot more. Review the blog post on "lying" if you've forgotten. But a powerful woman must always refrain from baring her real wounds to the world and only show the world the one part of herself that men identify subconsciously as "the wound.") Sadly, this woman has four children to take care of, also. With such elegance and evidence of a non-icy mid-section, this woman should be the mayor! How dare a nation deny her the power of her own elegance? Dear readers, I'm sure after reading the terrifying article on this elegant specimen of womanhood, allowing herself more than all of us a little My Time, I sincerely hope you contact the country of Europia and tell them that World War IV is over. Simply comment on this article online to let Europia know what you think of them! Or...It!--let this woman be her power, elegant, in her 20s self.
Remember, take a close look at her face and remind yourself, this woman is telling the world simply the truth. She is in her 20s.