(Imperfectly Revised Edition) It’s a cold and misty winter evening. The wind howls through the treetops. Cue the scary music. GOPP: Hey there. How’s it going? Me: (Frightened) Who are you? GOPP: I’m the GOPP. Me: GOPP? GOPP: The Ghost of Perfection Past. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. There are thousands of women just like you and I’ve got to visit all of them tonight. So if you don’t mind, I’m just gonna move this thing along. Look over there, into the mist. Me: I don’t see anything . . . wait! It looks like some kind