If I were truly empowered, I would run away from home and never come back. No, I could come back with a gun. No, I would come back with a run and flamingo-pink high heels, because I am empowered. To find myself. To say any outrageous–to do any outrageous thing whatsoever, without regret, or conscience.
See, that’s the bad part, thought Suzy. Regret–who needs it? Just say “better luck next time” and move on. But to be without conscience?
To be truly empowered, then, was to deserve to be shot down like a dog. And what about envy? If being fully empowered means you never feel envy, you can shove it up your ass and garnish it with a tomato-skin rose.
“I want to be someone else,” Suzy said as she looked in the mirror. “Not fully empowered. Just a little more powered.” Then she pinched the fat roll around her waist and decided to go on a diet.
Empowered people can deprive themselves, she thought. They have that power too.