Vanity.

Every woman loves when someone appeals to her sense of vanity. Some women enjoy being called pretty. Some women enjoy when man call them sexy. Some women enjoy being told that they're wonderful in every way possible -- sweet, charming, and wickedly brilliant.

It means little to me when a man tells me I'm pretty or sexy or white hot. I'm just cynical enough to believe that such statements are merely a way to get me into bed. But there is one way to appeal to my sense of vanity. I adore when people tell me I'm a good writer.

I wish I had a career in writing. It's the only thing I really love to do. I dream of moving to London and writing a book. Or at least being a journalist. (Like most aspiring novelists, I fear I'd never actually finish writing a book.) But I have to wonder. These folks who tell me I write well -- the ones who compliment on this very blog -- are they right? Am I really an adequate writer? Do I tell a good story? Or am I too precious in my writing, too self conscious?

Regardless, here's a tip for the men out there who'd like to get me into bed: Don't tell me how pretty I am. Don't tell me how smart I am. Tell me that I construct sentences better than any woman you've ever met. Tell me that my sense of syntax is to die for. Tell me that I'm destined to be a writer and that working as a lawyer is merely a fallback career. That is how to appeal to my sense of vanity and turn me into that proverbial putty in your hand.