No need to worry, I'm here now.
I realize you may have had some concerns before as to whether I should be given my way, but please, let me set your mind at ease about all that: I'm attractive. Matter resolved. And furthermore, as you can all clearly see, I'm very pretty and have appealing features, so everything is going to be all right.
Don't fret. My physical appearance is beautiful to look at.
No prob—I'm hot. It's natural to question why I should be promoted, admitted to the club, given that expensive necklace, allowed to use your car whenever I want, and able to expect that someone else will always pick up the check, but that's all settled now because I'm beautiful. And since I am advantaged, physically, there's no reason I shouldn't be given free rein to do what I will in this, or any other, situation. I'm sexy. That ought to take care of any adversity, trouble, or potential slight inconvenience, to me, that might come up.
Just wanted to clear that up so we can move along and get on with the me-admiring while I go about doing whatever I want. I am attractive. You are attracted to me because of this attractiveness.
My face is symmetrical. Therefore, the situation is completely resolved. My voice is melodious and, when not utterly aloof, slightly flirtatious. My posture, walk, and way of slowly shifting my weight from one hip to the other while twirling my hair absentmindedly as I gaze off into an untroubled haze are all compelling as hell to ruminate upon, in silent contemplation, while the rest of the world pauses. I even smell great. You're in for a rare treat, sensory-input-wise, being around me.
Go ahead. Soak it in. Feast your eyes. This is one of those moments. For you. So you see, we have no cause for distress anymore, in terms of whatever that may have been that was temporarily impeding the immediate gratification of my every wish.
I have shiny hair, so I'll handle this. My skin is flawless and free of blemish—save for one alluring birthmark seductively situated below my honey-dappled hip. Every part of my being is so alluring and attractive that it would be unfair to ask you to choose what you like the best. Well, no matter. You'll never suffer the hardship of having to pick a favorite from among my perfect features, because soon I will vanish—like a gossamer strand of spider-silk whisked away in the whispering wind—with no obligation to you or anyone like you.
And you will, in all likelihood, never speak to me again. Because, come on, what are the chances? But in the meantime, I am here, see? And you are looking at me. It's nice. Nice. Nice.
There, there. I'm gorgeous.
It seemed like there was some sort of problem? A moment ago? I'm sure everything is okay now and all issues have been resolved in my favor. I have a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, behind full, ruby-red, kissable lips that you will never kiss. My bone structure is genetically hardwired to be pleasing to the eye. My giggle is adorable! Everything's taken care of, okay? Because I'm pretty.
See? All better now. All is well. All is as it should be, thanks to my being incredibly good-looking. My legs look good. My eyes look good. My neck—let's not even go into my amazing, statuesque neck, which no one can help wanting to wrap their arms around and nuzzle their face into because of its inherently attractive nature. All of me looks good. And you—lucky, lucky you—get to bask in it, for a second or two, so its all good. We're good. We're cool, you and I.
There exists, in this zone of physical space surrounding my physical person, a state of grace suspending all potential impediments to my satisfaction in a low, murmuring sea of preference that flows from you toward me, because of my ageless and elegant beauty. So there is no tension or anxiety—not here anyway, at least not until I leave, which I inevitably will—and in the meantime you can savor my temporary sojourn amongst you.
Behold! My radiance is gently glowing like the soft light of the moon, drawing awe and admiration from everything it casts its light on. I'm paying attention to you. Yes, to little, less-attractive you. Doesn't that feel good, knowing that I am not only in the same room as you, but that I'm also acknowledging your existence momentarily? I'll bet it feels great. After all, this sort of thing doesn't happen to you every day. So what say we settle the pesky little matter of you not bowing to my every whim?