Imagine that you're in a bar on a Saturday night. You've got mozzarella sticks in front of you, there's a Long Island Iced Tea near your hand (it's your friend's, not yours--but you might drink it anyway), and you're leaning back in your chair contentedly. There's about to be a comedian on the small, rustic-meets-cheap stage in front of you, and you're quietly basking in your audience-power. That comedian must pander to you. Your enjoyment will lead to their rise or fall. Your mirth is their success, your disdain their destruction. 

Wriggling a little deeper into your seat, you can't help smirking internally (or maybe externally, too, if you're feeling particularly uninhibited). You're forgetting that that's a human being who's about to be on that stage, that that's a person with feelings and memories and dreams who will cautiously be putting a little bit of themselves on a pedestal and hoping to elicit a smidgen of humor. You're forgetting to be a classy, decent person--and instead willfully, lazily letting yourself meld into the audience as one more opinion to hit them with. But, hey. That is part of the fun. 

Some emcee lumbers onstage and does his best impression of a circus ringmaster; then, the lights go down, your friend can no longer tell that you're sipping his drink, and you prepare to feel superior. The 'star of the show' comes out--and she's wearing a pink Calvin Klein dress. 

She's average height, average build, with heels that are clearly not as expensive as her dress probably was. Her child-like face is round, or maybe square, and she's wearing almost no makeup. Or maybe she's wearing a lot, to look like nothing; it's hard to tell. Everything about her--her sheepish posture, the blush steadily filling her cheeks, her strawberry-blonde-brown hair--all screams 'sidekick in a young-adult novel'. None of it screams 'powerhouse-funny-lady'. So why is this girl doing this? Why is this girl getting up in front of you, as you feel around on your plate for another mozzarella stick and prepare to be condescending? This girl just looks like she should be having brunch somewhere with some friends while she companionably whines about the injustice of butter's goodness. 

Then she starts talking, up there in front of you--and that is this story.