Some of my personalities are polar opposites; it’s no wonder I fight with myself so often. I had an “a-ha” moment in my previous post, and I’m still mulling it all over, especially with regard to these two Lisa’s:
She likes to wear refined, polished, pretty clothes with appropriate necklines and skirt hems. She’s a pearl girl. She speaks softly and politely, and she’s shyly aware of her femininity, much like a young Princess Diana. She defers to the man’s wishes, but her grace somehow stirs men to chivalrous acts, like opening doors for her and making sure she’s comfortable. She quietly commands attention, and her virtue is intact. It’s a powerful personality in its demureness. She stands a full 6 inches taller than the other girls I carry around.
I used to call her Bad Lisa. Then she was Fun Lisa. I don’t know what to call her, really.
This girl is the one many men want to meet on Friday night, but pray to god their daughters (or wives) never turn into. She’s the uninhibited star of the dance floor (at least, in my mind). She struts into the club and drips with sexy attitude while the boys nudge each other and the women stare coldly.
She wears 4″ stilettos, tight low-rise jeans, and a shirt cut down to there with a leopard-print push-up bra that smashes her breasts together so tightly that things could get stuck in between them and never find a way out. She plumps her lips up with light pink gloss and overdoes her eye makeup.
She comes alive and her body moves involuntarily to songs like Low, by Flo Rida:
This Lisa is not powerful, though she thinks it – she is powerless. She is searching for her self-esteem in the faces of the men looking at her.
She uses the word “fuck” a lot. She’s loud and tries to be the clown, and she just loves to see the jaws drop as she is introduced to people who have previously only known Princess Lisa.
For the record, this one hasn’t shown up in awhile in real life. She hangs out in my fantasies, mostly. I tend to think she’s better off there.