Without pity

"Ecce homo."

Perhaps she is what a woman should be, for, dwarfing you with her appraising stare, she makes you feel that you are not one. Her eyebrows are unplucked, thick and meeting at the middle above the bridge of her aquiline nose. (Perhaps you should have not groomed yours.) Framing her upper lip is a smattering of hair, short and thick. (A sign of strength, always good in a woman.) Her lips are in constant movement. (A skill to be envied.) She is garrulous- she admits so herself- and you cannot help but wonder why. You search for glimmers of depth and meaning in her words. There must be profundity in there somewhere for she speaks with confidence. When she's not talking- something of rarity- she is typing away on her laptop, and the click-clack of her fingers on the keyboard is din. She does not listen- and perhaps she does not know how- for she repeats your words like they are truly hers. Under the table, her legs are crossed, the right swaying so vigorously you could almost hear it chopping through the helpless, defenseless air.