She’s blond. She’s svelte. Brilliant. Stunning. There isn’t anyone else like her. Survivor. Ass kicker. Genius. Goddess. She oils the machine. She spreads her legs. She swigs her tonic. The seas part. The crowds roar. No tomatoes are thrown. Kisses. Autographs. Record sales. Memoir aching with hubris. Girl with the most cake licking frosting from her monkey toes. Hype. Her own. She believes it. She does.