Karma has big, bright yellow hair, and size triple E boobs that fill out her front like a pouter pigeon, pulling the rest of her lean body forward.
She’s a ship in full sail; she only wears high heels and skirts.
She is a Lady, by God, and she’s very expensive.
Her dead blue eyes gaze out from under ledges of lash, cold as stilettos and twice as ready to cut. She’s a dream. To a certain type of man, she is a fantasy.
Karma loves Barbie, and is a great big grown woman emotionally frozen in childhood, a spun-sugar trap to entice a frozen-in-childhood grown boy.
She gilds her cages; all is frills and frou-frous, flowers, lace and teacups. She insists that pearls are always appropriate, and yet she proudly announces that she’s vegan. (Karma apparently doesn’t know where pearls come from.)
She thinks she is Sleeping Beauty; indeed, her level of physical activity is similar.
Karma loves the color pink, she loves luxury, and she loves money.
She loves a man who doesn’t know what love really is. She entices a man who loves to obsess, and who just wants his mother.
She hates women’s rights, women’s voices, and she hates doing things for herself. She wants to lie there sleeping prettily while the big strong boy-man does them all for her. (We know the end of his story- eventually, he’ll fall and have his eyes put out by the lethal thorns of beautiful enchanted rose bushes.)
Karma will treat this boy-man exactly as he treated the last woman who loved him.
She’ll require him to change.
She’ll move the marker of her approval and affection, just to watch him dance.
She’ll learn what it is he needs, and she’ll hold it just out of reach, until she can see his heart growing dim, and the light going out of his eyes. Then she’ll tell him he isn’t happy enough, just to watch the grisly joyless smile he’ll try to paste on his face.
Karma doesn’t care about mercy, or about forgiveness, because Karma is like a boomerang: reciprocal energy.
Karma has been earned, and she won’t leave until her job is done. When she can exact, blood for blood, exactly what was suffered and taken, that’s when she’ll straighten her crown, push out her double-E’s, insist that she’s a lady, and step over the body of her blind fool of a prince, and walk out.
Thank you, Karma. Don’t let the door hit you: you don’t have a man to hold it for you, dear.