

Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who has not responded to any of my proposals that we become best friends, graces the December cover of Vanity Fair in an ivory pantsuit, an array of flowers scattered behind her. It’s a distinctly feminine photo with Ocasio-Cortez sporting ballet-pink nail polish, her hair flowing down one shoulder, and a soft smile. It’s a photo that hides the savage ruthless undercurrent that women from the Bronx possess, waiting to be activated by just about anything: Getting cut off by a car in a different lane, being woken by kids making too much noise, and, of course, corny ass representatives harassing you on your way to work and then pretending they didn’t really mean to call you a “fucking bitch” because they have wives and daughters. Regular shit like that.
Ocasio-Cortez tells Vanity Fair that during now infamous exchange between herself and Rep. Ted Yoho, on the steps of the capitol, she froze; she didn’t know how to react in the moment to a grown man putting his finger in her face and screaming expletives after she had turned away. In Ocasio-Cortez’s birthplace of the Bronx, such an action would be perceived as Yoho’s request to be slapped up and down the Concourse. But the Congresswoman with the red lips had a better game plan. She found him the next day and told him, “You do that to me again, I won’t be so nice next time.”