(This column goes back to when The Young Girls ((daughters)) were all teenagers. It was a wonderful time. I rarely knew nor wanted to know what was going on. But when it was going on, it was going on in the bathroom.)
Although there is a saying that every dog has his day, this dogs day in this Tribe of Girls seems further off than ever, far enough to hold very little promise of ever coming, matter of fact. I reply to whichever female is addressing me with such titles as: Yes, Your Opulence, or, Yes, Your Majesty, or even, Yes, Princess of Everything, how may I serve you. Its like living in a fairy tale around here, Im a peasant, and reality and slavery are becoming ever harder to separate. Usually, almost impossible.
Im thankful that I can change the oil in the car for them; otherwise, I think theyd eat me.
Once in a while, when some Young Girl tells me: You know, anything can happen, even pigs can fly, I hope that perhaps this is a subtle reference to the fact that, after 17 winters with this Tribe of Girls, I might one day be admitted into their Holy Sanctum, The Bath-Ruin. Which is where It is going on.
Right now, it is early morning and The Young Girls are inside that holy of most holy places, The Bath-Ruin, engaged in a rite which I, an OutSider, have labeled The Fracas. Doing The Fracas is an every morning ritual. It has likely been going on since the first Tribe of Girls adorned their first Bath-Ruin cave with their presence, there to find that, no matter how many Girls there were, and how many mirrors there were, they were always one mirror short. One unchosen girl didnt get a mirror. Then, and only then, did the first Tribe of Girls do The First Fracas.
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Perhaps in a society greater than this one, where there is a mirror in every pot, and all Girls are created equal, there would be no Doing The Fracas. Until that perfect Camelot comes along, The Fracas is here to stay. With two mirrors in the Bath-Ruin here, and Three Young Girls, The Fracas happens every day. Every morning.
Doing The Fracas evidently is one of the ways that The Young Girls are similar to a pack of wolves: it prepares them for that day when they walk into an airport Rest-Ruin, or a nightclub Rest-Ruin, there to find that there is one less looking glass than there is lookers. Battle would then be joined with some Other Girl over the last mirror.
A Young Girl might then come up close behind The Girl primping before the last mirror, who is probably sitting there Moy-Stur-Rye-Zing, and say: Poor you. You must have gotten that complexion from your mother.
The battle is joined. Caught by surprise and obviously inadequately trained by her Tribe in the fundamentals of Bath-Ruin battle, this Girl might reply: And who might you be, Be-Itch.
Our Young Girl might say: The one who didnt get the Big Zit like you have there on your fathers nose. Oooooo. That zinger could only have come from intense Bath-Ruin survival-of-the-fittest background training, which happens here every morning.
Miss Mirror, now realizing that she is up against no novice, is forced to do battle on the one ground common to all females, and says: I didnt know they made clothes that big.
The training rises to the occasion. The reply is automatic. Youre looking at a D-cup, sister. Move over! Sitting Girls battle is over. She can only yield her mirror, much as a smaller wolf would yield a fresh kill to a larger one, by lowering her head and fleeing. Centuries of female one-mirror-ups-woman-ship dictate who will win this battle.
Our superiorly skilled Young Girl can now take her rightful place before a mirror, there to repair any incidental damage by consulting with the gods of Glam-Ore, such as Rev-Long, and Lower-Real. By so doing, she will retain her position as a more attractive Young Girl, and will thus get first choice at the gene pool, thus assuring her chance of attracting a stronger male, thus producing more Young Girls who will then inherit her superior Bath-Ruin skills.
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Doing The Fracas every morning here in this house, therefore, can only be viewed from a basic training point of view. Yes, the screaming and hollering that comes out of there every morning is disturbing. Who made you queen for a day, huh?!? Thats my Hare brush, you pimple!!! You are going to try to cover that up, arent you?
Sigh. Such is life.
Two mirrors. Three Young Girls.
