Emma Watson is 18. She looks 18, doesn’t she? She acts 18. She dresses 18. She moves 18. And while her dress is not my favourite, this doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s appropriate. And she isn’t pushing 40. And she doesn’t look like she’s been passed around a frat house. And (advance warning I’m about to offend you) we don’t know, we can’t be certain, there is definitely a legitimate question mark, about whether or not she’s on the pill.

You know what I mean.

You see them at the mall. You see teenage girls rushing by you, the way they walk, the way your husband can’t wait to get the hell out of there because he can’t leer without committing a crime these days, you get it right?

My aunt Irene used to say women know about girls. That a woman can pick them out – which ones have been plucked, and which ones are still waiting.

These days at the mall and at the Mouse and at Miley’s house, no one is still waiting.

But Emma comes along and it’s totally still a mystery. And it’s also none of our f-cking business. Good.

Photos from Wenn.com