Anything you've ever wanted

A few days ago, I took a personality test, (I'm an addict, I know,) to the tune of "if you were an alcoholic beverage, what would you be?" (Side note: It's only a beverage if it's served without a meal. That's the definition of beverage: a drink between meals.) It said I was a Pink Lady, about which I was understandably uppity -- I tend to think I'm a little more butch than that.

I was, however, appeased by the description, which was something to the tune of "You warm the heart and look cute, but are really toxic."

I've felt more toxic today than I have been since high school. No, that's the wrong word.

That's right: it's time for a patented Romie MetaphorTM

In my natural form, I am a blade. Precise, perceptive, subtle. Sharp. Cutting. Rasor in all but name. Over the years, I have worked hard to blunt myself so that people won't slice their hands when they slip. In doing so, I lost much of my drive, ambition, and capability for leadership. All in all, I consider it a fair exchange, and when people say "she's not half so fearsome as she pretends to be" I take it as a sign that I'm doing my job properly.

Today something whetted me, although I don't know what. I only know that I look at people and I know exactly how to make them cry.