The Stereotype Erin Bax, Twelfth The stereotype sits quietly in the kitchen, Vogue in one hand, steaming café latte in the other. Her recently polished lilac fingers flip through the pages with ease. She stops to smell the latest Gucci perfume – “the perfect gift.” Her little mind wanders. The kitchen door opens, and she looks up coyly as her soft red lips turn up in a smile. The stereotype saunters inside, straining to loosen the blue and black tie around his neck. He gives a quick wave, grabs a beer, and moseys over to the couch. After 30 seconds of angry searching, he finds the remote and flips past Oprah Winfrey to ESPN. “What the hell, this ref is terrible!” he shouts, almost subconsciously. The stereotype glances up timidly, takes a sip of her coffee, and glances back down.
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