Parlour

A beauty parlour is the best place to ponder about feminism. All kinds of aroma assaults my nose, the TV blares in the background, I sit there watching women of various ages, sizes and skin conditions walk in, get stressed out about looking good. The peacock has the feathers not the peahen, the lion has the mane, not the lioness, I wonder why in our species women work so hard to look good. Culprit must be some gene in the X chromosome. My thoughts face must have been transparent on my much scrubbed face. The woman there hastens to assure me it is not about looking beautiful, it is about being well groomed, it is about self image. I agree fervently.