Viva la peahen.
I’ve re-read chapter 16, but haven’t really had the time to write anything about it. Alas, I’ll just have to update you on how life is going.
I followed through with my new year’s resolution to join a gym. I’ve gone every day this week for a 30 minute morning workout. Still getting used to the whole being-naked-in-front-of-strangers / locker room thing. I would be the worst stripper ever. Seriously, if you ever needed to be reminded of how puritanical Americans are, the locker room’s the place to do it. A friend of mine shared her experiences in a Paris gym lock room — naked women hanging out, having conversations, showing one another dance moves they’d picked up in class. Yeeeeeeah. I need to be woman enough to do that.
Speaking of ye olde flesh, I’ve got the itch again. No, not that kind of itch. Gross. I’ve got the itch to get another tattoo. And I’ve already come up with the idea for it.
A couple of years ago, my mother and I were watching some nature show. They did a segment on peacocks mating — the males all feathered up and strutting, colors everywhere. My mom watched in awe and then sighed, “God truly does favor the men, doesn’t he?” In case you didn’t know, peahens don’t have the colors or the tail. Everybody’s always oohing and aahing about peacocks, and I doubt most people even know what a peahen looks like.
Anyway, what my mom said got under my skin. It pissed me off and made me sad at the same time. It’s one of those things that bothered me — probably a lot more than it should have, but whaddyagonnado? I argued with my mom for a while and finally convinced her that the stupid tail makes the peacock stick out and thus more likely to be killed and eaten.* Screw those guys. Viva la peahen.
For whatever reason, when I think feminism, I think peahens. (Don’t ask me — I’m not sure how my brain works either.) And it kinda bothers me a little when I see girls with peacock tattoos (pretty common, Google that shit). I’m not sure what keyword triggered this, but Google gave me this yesterday: Female Peacocks Not Impressed by Male Feathers. Pssh. Go, girls!
That got the old noggin whirring, and a decision was made: for my next double-middle-finger to the “good” lord, I’m getting a peahen inked on me. I told a friend about my plan and she had this to say: “It’s like telling society, ‘up your nose with a rubber hose.'” My friends are weird.
Anyway, chapter 16 will be up just as soon as I get around to writing about it. Stay tuned. And stay warm…it sucks out there.
* I don’t really know if that’s true, but those fuckers are just asking for it.