The Coming Storm
Sheila’s Salon was abuzz last Wednesday over a newspaper article Rhonda brought in. “Did you girls know the Equal Rights Amendment never passed?” Ronald, magenta locks thrown back by his horse laugh over by the shampoo sink, hands full of Mrs. Amundsen’s blue curls, snorted, “Oh my, now the cows are out of the barn.”
Rhonda asked the room what exactly did this mean?? “Are we second class citizens? Can we vote? I mean, what the hell?” Mrs. Amundsen’s discomfort at the sudden heat of what had been an enjoyable conversation about the wonderful summer weather was palpable, at least to Ronald, but nevertheless, he gleefully added fuel to the fire. “Oh, honeys,” he said in mock sincerity, “haven’t you heard the news? You’re the weaker sex, darlings. We he-men can’t just hand out equal rights like bon bons, now can we?”
Sheila, worried that things were soon going to be out of hand, tried to throw cold water on Ronald’s hot jibes. “Of course we can vote. If they’ll let Ronnie’s husband vote, for heaven sake, they’ll let anybody vote.”
“Whoa there, girls! No need to make this personal. I didn’t have a vote on the Amendment when it failed. I was still at my mother’s breast.”
“She probably should’ve bottle fed you, Ronald,” Rhonda fairly shouted. “I just can’t believe, in the 21st Century, we don’t have equal rights. I mean, we got civil rights passed. Slavery’s over, I thought.”
Mrs. Amundsen was picking at her pink vinyl cape nervously, muttering, “My my my now.” Even Jenny Fowler, the hot yoga instructor of the cool demeanor, was growing agitated. “Are you sure it didn’t pass? I mean, why wouldn’t it?”
Revolutions grow from small events. Later, when heads are rolling down the chute, no one will remember — or much care — that Sheila’s South End Salon might have been Ground Zero for the superstorm that overshadowed the Great Recession and the Oil Wars. A woman scorned, once she realizes, well, Lord help the rest of us….
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