From The New Yorker authored by Kira Jane Buxton:
[Gentle guitar strumming]
“She doesn’t always ride in an Uber alone, but when she does, she calls her friend Brittany and talks loudly about her krav-maga skills.
Her two cents on string theory are worth seventy-nine cents on the dollar.
She once brought a knife to a gunfight to demonstrate the dangerous intersection of gun violence and toxic masculinity.
She’s only been pulled over for speeding once—not because she was driving over the speed limit but because Officer Wilson wanted to know if she would join him for discounted mango mai tais at a T.G.I.F. happy hour.
She is allowed to talk about “Fight Club,” but only after the entire plot has been mansplained to her by Gary from accounting.
She tips an astonishing hundred per cent out of sheer inexplicable guilt that follows her everywhere.”
