Her name is something like… Ally or Carrie.
She has brown hair, cut short in a way that always looks perfectly tossled, no matter the weather or time of day.
She has brown or hazel eyes, and a skintone that’s deliberately not tan, but that could be if she so chose.
Her face is shaped such that her expression is always just on the edge of amusement. No one accuses her of looking bored or mad for no reason.
She has a cute chin and a clear complexion, slight muscle tone, and an organic sense of fashion.
She is confident in a group, easily engaging in a conversation and making well-placed references to literature or historical dates. She understands politics and government.
She has conviction and a strong voice. No one ever asks her to speak up. She talks just enough.
She is adorable, and has many friends.
She rides her bike to the grocery store, and doesn’t have unmanageable agoraphobia. She likes mid-sized parties and doesn’t resort to a bottle of wine to deal with a crowd.
She figured out how to transition from an adolescent to an adult. She is confident at work. People listen to this woman.
She approaches things she is unfamiliar with, with curiosity and excitement rather than fear and uncertainty and doubt.
She is unintimidated by creativity. She embraces it innocently, and that door is always open for her.
Everyone loves her. She’s really a model human being.
And, most of the time, I really hate her so thoroughly.