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She can shrug from the bottle,
Lift her pinky to a teacup,
or tilt a champagne flute,
with equal aplomb.
She rushes in, but she's no fool.
She's a survivor:
of puberty, of heartache,
of career moves, of breast cancer, of life.
Hers is the noisiest table in the restaurant.
She's as stubborn as a mule
whether she's right or wrong,
but then again, she is always right.
She can spot your insecurities
with maddening accuracy
and then win you over
by revealing she shares them.
She gets down and dirty
with every hair in place.
Her bite is so much worse than her bark.
The most popular
adjective for her is taray,
even when she is Juliet to your Romeo,
or Damon to your Pythias. Or Sisyphus.
She's far from
perfect and she knows it, but
that doesn't stop her
from acting like she is.
Ah, the Sigma Deltan.
All woman, and then some.
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