How I Became a Feminist

187 Replies

How I Became a Feminist

My wheels—down to the axles—
are on my neighbor’s car. My bright
blue Morris Minor sits on cinder blocks.
The sheriff doesn’t crack a smile.
“Seriously,” he says, “there’s nothing
I can do. You didn’t catch them
in the act, did you?” I fizz like a shaken
coke. “But you can see his truck is green.
The wheels match my car’s!” “Well, yes,
apparently, but that’s not proof.” I
wonder–why can’t I see his logic. There is
something too controlled in his façade.
Does my neighbor have some power
over him? Or is he revving up his
laughter to explode when he is done
No: I figure he’s dryer than Palm Springs
without the Colorado. Unmovable
and dull enough for the Department.
“If you can’t do anything, I guess
I’ll have to steal them back!” He adjusts
his Mountie hat. Just don’t get caught.
I’d hate to see a pretty girl like you
locked up.” He tears off my pink copy
of his scrawled report, then taps his hat.
I am waiting for you, Betty Friedan.

187 thoughts on “How I Became a Feminist”

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