Even the Queen

“Victims!” the docent shouted. “You've been stripped of your femininity, and you don't even care!” She stomped out, destroying several squash and a row of gladiolas in the process.

“You know what I hated most before the Liberation?” Karen said, pouring the last of the dandelion wine into her glass. “Sanitary belts.”

“And those cardboard tampon applicators,” Mother said.

“I'm never going to join the Cyclists,” Twidge said.

“Good,” I said.

“Can I have dessert?”

I called the waitress over, and Twidge ordered sugared violets. “Anyone else want dessert?” I asked. “Or more primrose wine?”

“I think it's wonderful the way you're trying to help your sister,” Bysshe said, leaning close to Viola.

“And those Modess ads,” Mother said. “You remember, with those glamorous women in satin brocade evening dresses and long white gloves, and below the picture was written, 'Modess, because…' I thought Modess was a perfume.”

Karen giggled. “I thought it was a brand of champagne!”

“I don't think we'd better have any more wine,” I said.

###

The phone started singing the minute I got to my chambers the next morning, the universal ring.

“Karen went back to Iraq, didn't she?” I asked Bysshe.

“Yeah,” he said. “Viola said there was some snag over whether to put Disneyland on the West Bank or not.”

“When did Viola call?”

Bysshe looked sheepish. “I had breakfast with her and Twidge this morning.”

“Oh.” I picked up the phone. “It's probably Mother with a plan to kidnap Perdita. Hello?”

“This is Evangeline, Perdita's docent,” the voice on the phone said. “I hope you're happy. You've bullied Perdita into surrendering to the enslaving male patriarchy.”

“I have?” I said.

“You've obviously employed mind control, and I want you to know we intend to file charges.” She hung up. The phone rang again immediately, another universal.

“What is the good of signatures when no one of ever uses them?” I said and picked up the phone.

“Hi, Mom,” Perdita said. “I thought you'd want to know I've changed my mind about joining the Cyclists.”

“Really?” I said, trying not to sound jubilant.

“I found out they wear this red scarf thing on their arm. It covers up Sitting Bull's horse.”

“That is a problem,” I said.

“Well, that's not all. My docent told me about your lunch. Did Grandma Karen really tell you you were right?”

“Yes.”

“Gosh! I didn't believe that part. Well, anyway, my docent said you wouldn't listen to her about how great menstruating is, that you all kept talking about the negative aspects of it, like bloating and cramps and crabbiness, and I said, 'What are cramps?' and she said, 'Menstrual bleeding frequently causes headaches and depression,' and I said, 'Bleeding!? Nobody ever said anything about bleeding!' Why didn't you tell me there was blood involved, Mother?”

I had, but I felt it wiser to keep silent.

“And you didn't say a word about its being painful. And all the hormone fluctuations! Anybody'd have to be crazy to want to go through that when they didn't have to! How did you stand it before the Liberation?”

“They were days of dark oppression,” I said.

“I guess! Well, anyway, I quit and now my docent is really mad. But I told her it was a case of personal sovereignty, and she has to respect my decision. I'm still going to become a floratarian, though, and I don't want you to try to talk me out of it.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” I said.

“You know, this whole thing is really your fault, Mom! If you'd told me about the pain part in the first place, none of this would have happened. Viola's right! You never tell us anything!”

The End