LOST LIBERATION

Dearest Friends,

If you recall, I mentioned that almost all the women in my childhood neighborhood were stay-at-home moms.  The only job my mother ever had was a brief stint selling Mary Kay cosmetics.  She taught us that women should never be seen without make-up, how to get your way while letting your husband think he's the boss, and how to hide something you've bought for a while, so that when you do wear it, and hubby asks if you've bought something new, you can say "This old thing? I've had it for ages!"  I spent the whole summer before college sewing cute dresses to wear every day, and even wore stockings the first week of class, but soon traded them in for frayed jeans and sandals.  You see, I showed up at UT (the most liberal, hippie-fied school in Texas) in 1971, when SDS, ERA, Roe vs. Wade, draft-dodging and presidential impeachment were everyday topics of conversation.  By the time I graduated, I was quite proud of how very liberated I had become.  I just had no idea how hard it would be to maintain, once I'd traded life in Austin for life as an expatriate wife who couldn't get a work permit, couldn't drive, and who was completely dependent on her husband for everything!

Luncheon with Miss D. (far right)

Despite my ill-planned shipment and lack of equipment, I managed to do ok in our make-shift kitchen.  I'd even host little dinner parties for some of John's bachelor friends, as a way to make myself feel useful.  I'd fix a batch of watery spachetti or underdone fried chicken in my electric frying pan, serve it to them out on our tiny porch, and they'd treat me like I was the hostess with the mostest!  Just when I was starting to believe it, I got invited to lunch at Miss D's place.

Miss D. was one of the older wives -- the one who reminded me of Zsa Zsa Gabor, with her exotic accent and ever-elegant attire.  There was an air of mystery about her, and she would allude to a princess-like upbringing.  That all ended when "riff raff" took over her country, and they had to bury their valuables and flee their mansion in the dead of night.  Miss D's luncheon was served on beautiful Chinese dishes, lined with glossy banana leaves that she had sent her housekeeper out to pick (She needed a housekeeper? For one room?).  I prayed that she would never invite John or any of the bachelors over for dinner, for it was sure to raise the bar on their expectations!

Miss M. gives little K. a haircut.

You see those kerchiefs the women are wearing?  They were probably hiding the curlers in their hair.   It seemed I had left my campus world, where I had friends who were burning their bras, and had given up shaving their legs and pits, and had traveled back in time to one where they believed the only way to get ahead was to use one's feminine wiles.  They went around in curlers and caftans during the day, but met their hubbies at the door each evening dressed to kill, with welcoming drink in hand.  I knew I was in trouble the day I found myself leaving a card party early, because I wanted to have plenty of time to get gussied-up before John got home!