The perfect woman is impossible to describe accurately, because it's all so subjective. But here I'll try.

I've often said that the perfect woman is almost a man, mentally, that is. She's strong, nigh-fearless, and can see the beauty in occasional bouts of mindless violence. She says what she means and sees the logical side of any issue. She doesn't expect that you read her mind, and likewise, doesn't try to read yours. She likes dogs and cats equally well. She can cook and clean, but she wants you to help.

She wears sensible shoes. She goes easy on the makeup. She's open to new experiences. When she growls, it's the cutest thing in the world. And when you point it out, she flashes a smile that melts your heart. She keeps in shape, but she's not overly self-conscious or embarrassed about her body. She shops at Victoria's Secret. She sings in the shower, or whenever. She named her favorite teddy bear. She'll drag you out of bed at five in the morning to watch the sun rise.

Tell me you wouldn't fall in love with a girl like this?

Invisible braces since she was ten, to straighten her teeth and give her a winning smile. Decalcifying bleach to make it sparkle like the sun. Veneers on her peg laterals to fill out the space. Movie star smile by the time she was 14.

She's been on a diet since she was twelve to burn off her baby fat, and since then through of force of habit. She hasn't had a plate of mashed potatoes in three years. She adds up her meal points on weight watchers, eats her fill and purges the difference.

Three miles a day for five years. Her body is toned and sleek without being intimidatingly muscular. She has legs that would put a drag queen to shame. Hair removal by laser surgery, so she has no razor scars. She's been promised electrolysis for her twentieth birthday present.

275cc of natural-feeling, non-toxic soy-based breast enhancement, for her sweet sixteen, to complement her impossibly slender figure with a set of gravity-defying, realistically elliptical yet irresistibly delectable tits. She'll never breast feed, but she was raised on formula and she came out just fine.

The entire football team could be disqualified with a single trace of illegal steroids, but she can put away as much Adderall as her pharmacist will conscience prescribing. Her math team scores are the highest in the state. Her SATs were twin 800s. Her science projects get grant money from the U.S. Navy. Even Oxford is courting her, despite their historical skepticism of American secondary education.

When the soul-crushing ennui of her existence becomes unbearable, there's always 20mg of Lexapro a day to rescue her back from the abyss. Wonder drug of the 21st century. It makes her happy and leaves her sex drive intact. An investment like her only gets one chance to slice her wrists. Now, she can't even imagine wanting to.

She's a visionary. 8mg of Olanzapine to shut the voices in her head up; 400µg of Dextrose Lysergic Acid Diethylamide to bring them back.

She's a rebel. She has a navel piercing and a tongue stud, a tribal design on the small of her back and plans for another tattoo on her left shoulder. You can't help but like her. 30µg of artificial Progesterone three weeks a month and she can fuck anything on two legs without a second thought. Tetracycline for awkward bacterial STDs, and they'll have a cure for AIDS and Herpes Simplex any day now. Benzos and molly for her social anxiety disorder and she can club it up with the best of them. Heroin for the thrill no man is good enough to give her. Tylenol for her headache in the morning. Foundation to hide the rings under her eyes.

She's eighteen years old. She's getting ready to deliver the valedictorian speech. Look at her parents. They're beaming. Who ever heard of an investment panning out this well?

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