Intellect And Running With My BOobs

I’ve spent the past 24 years studying for tests, sucking up to bosses, and wearing dowdy button-downs. Every chance I got I made it clear that I’m an educated, intelligent young woman with more to offer than just a hot body. And what has that gotten me? Diddly-squat. I’m still an entry-level employee more qualified than my male coworkers who are moving up in the company as if they’re riding a hyper-speed escalator.

After a lifetime of putting effort into proving my smarts and covering up my goods, I’ve decided to try a different technique. From here on out, the first thing everyone will know about me is that I have boobs.

The obvious perk of this method of upward mobility that it requires no effort. Boobs are part of me, they’re here no matter what I do or how little I try. There is literally nothing I have to do besides show up and say, “Look at my boobs!” to enjoy the benefits of having them. Intellect requires much more work. Reading, keeping up with the news, general eloquence, along with nodding in agreement to whatever a nearby man is saying. So much work for such little payoff.

If we’re being honest, boobs are what my male superiors want anyway. They talk a lot about bandwidth and output and work models, but what they really mean is “I would rather be hanging out with some boobs.” No matter how hard I work they never notice me, but perhaps if I presented my ideas with a flourish and some cleav they would pay attention.

This technique works in other scenarios as well. Ordering a sandwich? My high SAT scores aren’t going to get me that cold cut combo! Engaged in a political discussion? Most men vomit upon hearing the words “women’s rights,” but with just a single nipple-sighting they’re feminists for life. Crossing the street? Be careful about this one, too much boob and that responsible driver might run into a stop sign or potentially your boobs.

Some people would say I’m taking the easy way out, but I disagree. I’ve spent my entire existence hiding my greatest asset in crew neck sweaters and oversized T-shirts, all the while dying to make people see how smart I am when they simply do not care. Enough is enough. I’m pulling out the big guns, and the big guns are my boobs.

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