It drives me nuts. The beautiful girls, you know them, tall with long straight hair and not an ounce over-weight, standing before the mirror in a cluster keeping everyone else away. I’m not talking about a quick swipe of powder across the nose and a re-freshening of lipstick. No. Nothing but a full tease out session and complete application of their face over their already flawless skin. Primp, primp PRIMP!
Of course these girls are not only the prettiest girls in class, but the most sociable. There they stand monopolizing the mirror, laughing and joking, and totally involved with each other. They never even notice that others are quietly waiting their turn. That I am waiting my turn. Total oblivion.
I’m not tall, my hair is short, and as the new girl in school, I am so painfully shy. I am not allowed to wear makeup, and now that I think about it, maybe they aren’t either. Why do full face makeup in the john, if you are actually allowed to wear makeup? I am so annoyed. Selfish is how I see them. They can’t share the mirror. Do they think they are ugly? Nobody else does. They certainly get all the boy’s attention.
Okay, not all the attention is the good kind. Much of the attention is a little handsy. A pat on the butt, a quick feel of breast. The girls laugh it off. I glare! Touch me and die! It isn’t an issue, no-one tries. An arm slips about a waist, “I’ve got my lab partner,” he exclaims, giving her a squeeze and hauling her giggling to “their” station.
What’s a girl to do? “You are so uptight! Loosen up.” Jerk!
My lab partner is another girl. Together we take our station. Our first experiment is about the displacement of liquid. Someone bumps against our table sliding a book into our vessel and spills the liquid. “We need to refill our vessel,” I tell the teacher.
Our teacher, a man, laughs. “No refills. You are only in this class, because it’s required. No-one expects you to actually learn anything. You are women. A woman’s brain is smaller than a mans. Your only going to get married and have babies.” My first assignment, and I have an F. What am I going to do. I am going to be in so much trouble.
I toss my aborted report into the trash. What else can I do. Day after day of this. God I hate school. My headache starts as I leave my block, and gets worse as I get closer to school. I run a comb through my hair, since I can’t get near the mirror, and go through the same routine again. One failing paper after another. “Oh look. Proof girls should not be in a science class. All of these girls have F’s.” The boys laugh.
If I had been facing the class, instead of the board, I might have seen the few boys just sitting quietly, but of course I don’t.
My headache fades as I get closer to home. The steady steam of F’s is a problem for another day.