4-Letter Words

If you've ever been in a relationship with a woman, it is likely you've been confronted with some variation of the question that has befuddled lady lovers for eons: "Do I look okay?"

While we ladies are indeed the strong, independent, self-empowered goddesses we seem, even the fanciest among us are not immune to occasional crippling bouts of insecurity (and, ok yes, maybe even a little vanity). And given our heightened sense of passion, killer instincts for opponents' vulnerabilities, and raw, unbridled emotional power, your response to the above quandary should be considered very carefully.

Therefore, I'd like to share with you three reliable rules for not screwing it up. Ready?

1. Fine is a 4-letter word.
2. Okay is also a 4-letter word.
3. Avoid 4-letter words.

To further illustrate my point, I've outlined two different scenarios below.

Scenario 1
We're running late for a party. I'm getting ready in the bathroom, violently teasing my hair with a comb and visibly upset. You pace outside, checking your watch and looking annoyed.
Me: Ugh, my hair is flat!
You: Sweetie, you look fine.
I stab you in throat, use your blood as war paint, and run naked through the streets laughing maniacally

Scenario 2
We're running late for a party. I'm in my closet, face down on a massive pile of clothing and shoes, sobbing dramatically. You've just arrived to pick me up. You hear me crying and gallantly break down the door because I'm clearly in no state to get up and answer the bell.
You: Darling! Whatever is the matter?
Me: I don't ...*sniffle* ....feel... *sob*... p-p-pretty!!! ...*choking sobs*
You gallantly stride across the room, scoop me up in your arms and kiss me deeply and passionately, not even minding the snot and tears but in fact finding it actually makes me more radiant than ever, if that were even possible
You: Well of course you don't feel pretty. You're NOT pretty.
I emit a guttural growl, start to reach for my shank (which a fancy lady always keeps in her garter), but you calmly and firmly grab my hand and gaze meaningfully into my eyes.
You: Pretty is far too marginal a word to describe your magnificence, for you are the most breathtaking beauty the world has ever known. The mere fact that I'm lucky enough to know you gives me a perpetual and massive hard-on. I worship you.
Windows suddenly fly open and doves fly in as you make gallant and dramatic love to me, then cook me dinner and we watch Netflix in our pajamas because you simply could not endure such beauty as a fancy dress and makeup would afford my already exquisite elegance.

I think I've made my point. If I haven't, well, I'd recommend investing in some good old-fashioned chain mail and learning to sleep with one eye open.