Excerpt from John D. MacDonald’s 1966 mystery novel, The Last One Left (h/t Burton):
_[She] was one of the great broads, years past the peak of it, but hanging in there so well, you had to marvel at what it had to be costing her in time and effort to keep the illusion of youth. Not only the masks and packs, and the oils and skin foods and lotions and the careful measuring of sun to keep that flawless brown gold of the expensive tennis-club tan, but on top of that, the daily measurements of every dimension to the quarter part of an inch, followed by exercises that would exhaust a stevedore. Then, once you had the pretty machine all assembled, you had to imitate the unconscious tricks of youth, no matter how tired the flesh. You had to walk pert, more trimly and quickly, smile saucy, exaggerate all expressions and all gestures, move the head quickly, and run the voice up and down as many notes of the scale as you could handle._
_But, baby, the years are written on the backs of your hands, in bulged veins and thickened knucklebones, and written in the horizontal lines across your throat and in the little striated patterns on the slightly puffed flesh under the eyes._”
Christine Ballcutter-Fraud must have been fighting the advance of the Wall during her Fake Testimony. It’s disconcerting to see an older woman who hasn’t aged well at all hit every note on the valley girl register in a transparently lame effort to sound like a vulnerable teen girl. Shitlibs, naturally, fell for it.
***
Bonus quote, this one credited to Hemingway, although I haven’t been able to confirm the source:
You could never remember the exact moment she was in love with you – but you knew the instant she wasn’t.
All to true for so many men, but for the few who have earned their stripes, the moment a woman falls in love with you is detectable when she inconveniences herself for your favor. (More romantically, it’s the moment her eyes do the talking.)
PS In case I hadn’t mentioned it before, the Hemingway short story “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber” is an absolute must-read for any student of the crimson pill. Hemingway knew the truth of female hypergamy and its attendant vindictiveness toward beta males who dare to rise above their station.
