interrogative eyebrows
Rose Wilder Lane worte on the same subject again, five years later.

"Why on earth," cried the woman with the interrogative eyebrows, in exasperation, "why on earth do men act as they do and then speak of women's vanity in that superior tone?

"Why does a man enter the best cafe in town with an air of having offered to buy the place that morning, and call the waiter by his first name whether he knows it or not?

"Why does a man prefer to let his best girl think him stingy and selfish rather than confess to her that his shanty isn't as big as he wishes it was?

"Why does the man from the country suffer in agony rather than admit he is not entirely familiar with rushing taxicabs and skyscrapers?

"Why will a man plume himself on asking a woman's love and adoration and reputation and then turn brick-red at the thought of letting her pay a luncheon check?

"Why will a man mortgage the next fifteen hundred weeks of his life to get a diamond solitaire for the girl, and then smile at her 'pretty vanity' as she turns it on her finger?

"Why will a man insist on discussing the tariff at his wife, provided she is a nice little home body who doesn't vote?

"Why will he absolutely refuse to mention the tariff to his wife, provided she specialized in political economies at the university?

"Why will a man spend half an hour daily in the barber's chair, while his manly countenance is being steamed, massaged, shaved, witch-hazeled and softly dusted with powder, and then exclaim aloud when his wife keeps him waiting six seconds while she runs a powder puff over her nose?

"Why will a man spend hours of anxious thought and silent profanity, plus half his weekly pay check, in a shoe shop, and emerge with knobby-toed, brilliant yellow shoes, whose shrieks can be distinctly heard for many blocks, and then tell how his wife is vain of her feet?

"Why will he do all these things and still call woman the vain sex?

"You're looking awfully well in that new hat," said the sweet, agreeable little girl.

"Really?" cried the woman with the interrogative eyebrows. And for three blocks she watched her reflection in the shop windows.

Labels: laura ingalls wilder

- posted by pioneergirl at 8:20 PM