But at some point she hit the glass ceiling, and for a big chunk of her career, she watched other men that she had trained -- younger men that she had trained -- pass her up that ladder.
For nearly two decades, she watched as men no more qualified than she was -- in fact, usually men who she had trained would get promoted up the corporate ladder ahead of her.
And she worked hard, and she was good at what she did, but like so many women she hit that glass ceiling, and watched men no more qualified than she was -- men she had actually trained -- be promoted up that ladder ahead of her.
In her case, she dated men she should have married time and again, but her own ambitions and fantasies and quirks got in the way.
But she watched as she hit that glass ceiling, and watched men no more qualified than she was climb that corporate ladder -- men she had actually trained move ahead of her.
She told the police two men she didn't recognize had taken her from her home.
Among the clutter she includes other people, and by other people she means men.
She blamed them more for their insecurities than she blamed men for their insensitivity or their sexism.
She recalls playing against men when she was six and beating them.
When Husna emerged from her bedroom and looked again at the drive, she saw men putting up a tent, where the male guests would mourn during the janazah.
Along the way she does all the required reading for her MBA, but through the beveled glass of the padlocked corner office she sees men in blue dress shirts with power ties playing carpet golf and high fiving each other.
At the end of the book and after an extended exploratory quest, she is still single and judging the men she dates, no one measuring up to the new yardstick she has created.
She hit the glass ceiling, and watched men she once trained promoted up the ladder ahead of her.
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She was turned down by nine of the first ten men she asked to sponsor her application.
When asked where she was for two nights, Laura claims she can't remember and that she isn't scared of getting into cars with men she doesn't know.
One mom lamented that she was tired of being asked by men whether she was jealous of other mom's choices or whether she regretted her decision about working and parenting.
In fact, she did something she thinks annoyed these men and women of science: She prayed.
She looks at the men and women around the table as she enthusiastically elaborates on what she believes to be an important point that can bridge the conversation.
She says that two men were killed before dawn just near where she's standing.
She thinks that men and women simply don't look at parties the same way.
She collapsed after men posing as water board officials searched her home on 17 August.
As a single mother, in her forties, she gave up men for a while.
She did those men a favor: surely better a swift exit than a lingering decline.
The men she talks to, however, are a pathetic bunch, whose confidence is shot to pieces.
She's not a big fan of Roc -- she prefers her men balanced, with a feminine side.
She added that men have larger pores and oilier skin, information that I didn't really need to know.
But she said so many men from her village had died fighting the Tigers that she had to come.
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She joined three men and another woman who planned to sail to Florida.
If the men she talks to really are victims, as she presents them, who or what has done the victimising?
Holson notes in the piece that all the men she contacted refused to talk to her about their personal lives.
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