She comes to you at night with her siren-whisper.
Listen.
It's a man's world, but here you are, with your breasts and hips (and the brain that they can't see). Play it up, show some skin, make them love you, with your chipped fingernails and fishnets and black boots. It's easy, really.
When they kindly provide you with knowledge that you already possess (because you are a girl, so how could you possibly know about baseball or carburetors), bat your lashes and ask for clarification. Reflect his condescension in the twinkle in your eyes. Let him see it, and laugh.
Reject him, but do it kindly. Remember that he's a person, like you, and his ego is as soft and fragile as his external genital organs.
You are hard beneath your softness. You bear the weight and the pain of the millions before you whose suffering comes to you in blood.
And when you're walking alone in the dark, don't forget to put your keys between your fingers, aim for the eyes, the throat, the groin. (The boots will help you run.)
