Author's Note: Wow, this has gotten weird. A girl writing a story about
newly converted practically-militant feminism from the perspective of a
teenaged boy. The moral of the story, kids, is a.) don't write yourself
into a corner, and b.) once you have, don't hurl yourself off an impulsive
plot cliff.
Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own anything.
I tried again. "Look, Tish," I said exasperatedly, "I didn't do it, okay? Neither did Carver. It was just some guy at the bookstore. There's no need to be mad at us. We're your friends."
"Preach it, brother!" Carver seconded. "Amen!"
Tish stopped sucking on her vanilla non-dairy shake and treated us to a regal sniff. "It's the principle of the thing. It makes no difference that you weren't the perpetrators of that particular offense, because this is about so much more. You have to look at the big picture, you have to--"
Carver made a derisive noise. I cringed and waited for the explosion.
"There is no big picture here, Tish. This is all you. You, mutilating yourself in an effort to achieve God-knows-what, and then taking it out on half the world's population."
"Men actually make up somewhat less than half of the human population. I suppose now you'll use that as an argument to justify polygamy."
"Gosh, Tish, I didn't hear you complaining when you got hired over girls who looked like horses. How much do you suppose acting ability really has to do with actresses' success? Or, for that matter, singers' success? What other possible explanation is there for Britney Spears and Avril Lavigne?"
Wait, wait. Why was Avril getting dragged into this? "Hey now," I said warningly.
"Ah, yes. Britney and Avril. The successful women we all love to hate," Tish contributed, dripping sarcasm.
"Dude," said Lor, "I'm totally with you on the whole looks-shouldn't-be- everything thing, but Avril Lavigne is a menace to society and you know it."
"Hey now," I repeated.
"Delusional teeny-boppers aside," Carver went on, "you were reaping the societal benefits of being a pretty girl before you decided you wanted the societal benefits of being movie-star pretty. Just because you tried and failed is no reason to get mad at me. I'm not going to apologize to you for being male."
"My career should not hinge on my looks."
"Too bad, sugar," Carver drawled, leaning back in his plastic chair, hands behind his head, "that's the way the cookie crumbles. There's nothing you can do about it, so your best bet is to settle for reasonably comely and be happy with your place in life."
Tish's right hand went to brush back the hair that was no longer there behind her ear. "It still isn't fair," she said softly, aware that she was losing this argument.
"Nope," said Carver affably from his reclined position.
"Who says that toned and tanned is beauty, anyway?" asked our lovely pedantic monk-doppelganger buddy, her tone of voice escalating. "If two hundred years ago Rubenesque was sexy, who says ashen and skeletal can't come into style? Tino," she commanded, "tell me: what exactly makes beauty beauty?"
For the second time in ten minutes, I needed my mom. I couldn't think of anything to say.
"I propose an experiment."
Carver lurched, upending his chair. Lor was laughing at him so hard she spilled cherry-flavored Chug-A-Freez on his face. Tish maintained a quiescent calm that filled me with a sense of awful foreboding.
Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own anything.
I tried again. "Look, Tish," I said exasperatedly, "I didn't do it, okay? Neither did Carver. It was just some guy at the bookstore. There's no need to be mad at us. We're your friends."
"Preach it, brother!" Carver seconded. "Amen!"
Tish stopped sucking on her vanilla non-dairy shake and treated us to a regal sniff. "It's the principle of the thing. It makes no difference that you weren't the perpetrators of that particular offense, because this is about so much more. You have to look at the big picture, you have to--"
Carver made a derisive noise. I cringed and waited for the explosion.
"There is no big picture here, Tish. This is all you. You, mutilating yourself in an effort to achieve God-knows-what, and then taking it out on half the world's population."
"Men actually make up somewhat less than half of the human population. I suppose now you'll use that as an argument to justify polygamy."
"Gosh, Tish, I didn't hear you complaining when you got hired over girls who looked like horses. How much do you suppose acting ability really has to do with actresses' success? Or, for that matter, singers' success? What other possible explanation is there for Britney Spears and Avril Lavigne?"
Wait, wait. Why was Avril getting dragged into this? "Hey now," I said warningly.
"Ah, yes. Britney and Avril. The successful women we all love to hate," Tish contributed, dripping sarcasm.
"Dude," said Lor, "I'm totally with you on the whole looks-shouldn't-be- everything thing, but Avril Lavigne is a menace to society and you know it."
"Hey now," I repeated.
"Delusional teeny-boppers aside," Carver went on, "you were reaping the societal benefits of being a pretty girl before you decided you wanted the societal benefits of being movie-star pretty. Just because you tried and failed is no reason to get mad at me. I'm not going to apologize to you for being male."
"My career should not hinge on my looks."
"Too bad, sugar," Carver drawled, leaning back in his plastic chair, hands behind his head, "that's the way the cookie crumbles. There's nothing you can do about it, so your best bet is to settle for reasonably comely and be happy with your place in life."
Tish's right hand went to brush back the hair that was no longer there behind her ear. "It still isn't fair," she said softly, aware that she was losing this argument.
"Nope," said Carver affably from his reclined position.
"Who says that toned and tanned is beauty, anyway?" asked our lovely pedantic monk-doppelganger buddy, her tone of voice escalating. "If two hundred years ago Rubenesque was sexy, who says ashen and skeletal can't come into style? Tino," she commanded, "tell me: what exactly makes beauty beauty?"
For the second time in ten minutes, I needed my mom. I couldn't think of anything to say.
"I propose an experiment."
Carver lurched, upending his chair. Lor was laughing at him so hard she spilled cherry-flavored Chug-A-Freez on his face. Tish maintained a quiescent calm that filled me with a sense of awful foreboding.
