This classic Toast post originally ran on November 15, 2013. Previously: A Day in the Life of a Troubled Male Antihero.
She woke up like she did every day: slowly pulling her motorcycle helmet off, then shaking her head slowly back and forth to reveal a long, blonde ponytail. Everyone gasped. “That’s right,” she said, kicking the winning football goal before sliding into a sheer, sexy camisole under a blazer and playing as hard as she worked, “I’ve been a girl this whole time.” One of the guys, the real sexy one, shook his head in slow motion, as if to say “wh-wh-wh-whaaat?” You know the kind. His mouth was kind of open while he did it. He was totally blown away.
She walked off the field, and she knew everyone was looking at her butt, and she totally loved it. “Sorry, boys,” she called out over her super-sexy shoulder. She always called men boys, because she knew what gender was. Now she was carrying a briefcase and wearing a pencil skirt and sex glasses. She was at law.
“Your Honor,” she said, and the Honor paid attention, “I’d like to win this case,” and she totally did, she totally beat that busted-looking male lawyer who had the mushy face and wore suits that didn’t fit. She gave a little fist-pump, because even though she’s tough, she’s still relatable. “Girl power,” she said, high-fiving her curly-haired friend, who had just appeared behind her.
“Girl, you need a drink,” her curly-haired friend said, “and I need a man.” She laughed because her curly-haired friend didn’t really get it yet, but she was getting there.
She strolled up to the bar and planted a firm-yet-sexy pump-encased foot down on the rail. The bartender looked at her and started pulling out little frilly umbrellas and Malibu and speared slices of pineapple to make some kind of girl drink, but she held up her hand. “A whiskey,” she said, her voice low in her throat. “Neat.”
Behind her the pool table exploded. Every man in the bar immediately grew a beard. The jukebox made a record-scratching sound, even though it was an mp3-playing jukebox.
Her lawyer partner was there too. “Buy you a drink?” he asked.
“I can’t be bought,” she said. Later, after they did it, she slipped out of bed and briskly put on her clothes.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, full of feelings.
“Sorry, babe,” she said, turning to leave. “You knew what this was.” She threw a thong at him, to remember her by. It was totally awesome, the way he wanted to be her boyfriend but she was too busy and cool to care. “Thanks for all the doing it. But I have to go win a karate tournament.”
“Yeah, I get it,” she said. “Like a contest. Like a boys against the girls thing.”
“Not exactly…there’s no reason to make this a conte–“
“Like a contest,” she said firmly. “Girls versus guys. Prove once and for all who’s really the toughest.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with toughness,” he began.
“The girls are totally going to win,” she said, “You’re a bunch of sexists.” She could win at everything. She could change a tire and dance in a ballgown in the same ten minutes. Maybe with a little streak of grease over her cheekbone, to remind you that she was tough and beautiful, and also to remind you how good her cheekbones were. Now she was wearing a pretty dress but combat boots underneath it, and she also had a gun, to fight sexism. She looked so good. She kicked a guy in the face, and she didn’t even care.
“Feminism,” she said to herself, and then put on some red lipstick. “Just because I’m a feminist doesn’t mean I don’t like to look good.” Then she kicked another guy through a window, and he fell all the way. He was probably dead. She had like four guns strapped right on her boobs.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but we really do have to go–“
“It’s Doctor, actually,” she smirked. The guys were totally shocked. They’d been talking about the doctor they were supposed to meet like it was some old guy, but it was her the whole time. “According to this scroll, all the prophecies are going to explode,” she explained. “Let me run some tests in my hacking lab. I’m a very important scientist.” She had so many abs, too. So many abs.
“I can hold my own in the bedroom and the boardroom,” she said to no one, and to everyone. “You should never underestimate me.” She took off her blonde ponytail and shook her hair loose; there was another blonde ponytail underneath it.
[Image via Motorcycle-USA]
Mallory is an Editor of The Toast.