Her femininity is the stuff of dreams for some who post here.
(That sentence should have ended, "here at band camp," but some people might become unhinged had I ended the sentence that way. Gee, I hope the previous run-on sentence doesn't ruffle some feathers. I love run-on sentences and often try to out run-on Willliam Faulkner, who, in my humble opinion is the king of all run-on sentences. Faulkner is a Mississippi boy, who lived near Oxford when he became a screen writer. According to a famous story, probably apocryphal, Faulkner, who was writing for Howard Hawks at the time, claimed that he was suffering from writer's block and could only write from home. So, Hawks told Faulkner to go home and write. Well, several days passed, with no word from the writer. So, Hawks telephoned Faulkner's hotel and found that Faulkner had checked out several days earlier. It seems Faulkner had spoken quite literally, and had returned home to Mississippi to finish the screenplay. Faulkner never liked writing for the screen, but the money was good and he was broke.)