The Last Women’s Libber

My kids crack up at my antiquated “pro women” stance.  On the bright side, I think this is because the concept of women being equal to men has become so widely accepted that it  seems superfluous to stress the point.  That’s terrific.

When I was a little girl, I hated when my mother received missives addressed to “Mrs. Ronald Aaron”.

“What the fuck?” I’d say.  “You’re name’s not ‘Ronald’”

“Watch the language, Trash Mouth.” she’d reply.

Today, I went over my friend C’s house to help her with her daughter’s wedding invitation list.  C had mentioned that she found this task daunting, and couldn’t stop procrastinating.  The wedding is September 19th.  For me, doing something like that with a friend is one of the only ways to get me to work.  I’ll never forget my friend coming to my house when we moved, and helping me clean out my closet.  It was crucial – even if she did have me give half my sweaters to Good Will Industries.  I thought I’d help out C in a similar manner.

We sat down at the kitchen table for our task.  C said that she wanted the invitations to be addressed in a formal manner.  We looked on a website for the format.  They gave the “Mrs. Ronald Aaron” thing.  Unless the woman is a doctor.  Then she gets to be Dr. Marilyn Aaron, while he remains Dr. Ronald Aaron right under her.  Blech.

There was a column of rules just for women – women who are divorced, widowed, remarried.  “I’m going to be ill,” I said.

“Sorry,” said C.

“Why isn’t there a formal way to list everyone’s entire name?  This is so stupid!” I whined.

“We can do that if you want,” said C, looking sort of stricken.  I felt like a puppy beater.

“Oh, C, it’s your wedding,” I said.  “And you’re right.  It looks nicer that way.  I’m an idiot.  Let’s just do the regular formal thing.”

So what, if I crossed my fingers behind my back as I said it?  The important thing is that we got almost the whole list done, and I didn’t vomit once.