Glamour Night in the Bike Club
About two towns over, there is a motorcycle club filled with beautiful women, like trained poodles on their bikes. They have perfect hair, perfect skin and perfect nails. They wear color coordinated outfits, and they always look good. We have to admit that we have been letting things in the old looks department slide- it’s almost as if we have been trying to be anti-feminine in our quest to be seen as equal. We can fix our bikes, we can do just about anything else a man can do but dammit, we don’t have to look like them all of the time.
After a tentative meeting with one of the pretty girls from over there, my friend and me have cooked up something for our club. It’s going to be a shock to some of our member’s systems, but we are going to have a glamour night at our bike club. It’s about time we realize that you can ride a motorcycle and still look like a woman- even a glammed up woman when the mood strikes.
So, the girls show up, nervous and tentative. They pat their bikes as if they will protect them from the hair curlers and mascara wands. We had three stylists working, one doing hair, one doing makeup and one doing nails. It was a beauty assembly line in there, with the ladies getting their hair cut and styled, some for the first time in years.
It is strange that we women have worked so hard to earn the right to work the same jobs that men do, we want to do the same sports and the same activities. Like our motorcycles. Back in the old days, we rode on the back of the bikes, treated like just another piece of property, no different than that bike. Now we ride the bikes, beside our guys, in front of our guys, without guys at all. Who says that while we were working to earn all of these rights that we had to give up the right to be pretty in the meantime? Are you really saying that a perm is going to set the woman’s movement back 50 years?
We look in the mirror, smiling at our results, some of the ladies looking at themselves with makeup for the first time in many, many years. We have forgotten ourselves in the course of fighting the good fight and raising families and starting careers and everything else we have had to do. We don’t have to give up the soft and feminine side to be strong and independent. We don’t have to be out to get a man to wear fire engine red lipstick and nails. We don’t have to even have a man in mind to get our hair done up special.
There was not a man within miles but we all felt gorgeous when we done. We took pics just like in the magazines, gorgeous women, all draped over their motorcycles and that was the big difference- they were our own bikes, not just sitting near some prop we had no clue about. We can look good, feel good and, dammit, still ride our bikes.