That Takes Ovaries!

by Rivka Solomon

  Knowing the underpass was just to my left, I darted across the street without even looking for cars. I was in that tunnel and under cover in a matter of seconds. I flew as fast as I could, even though I knew they couldn’t catch me now unless they got out of their car to chase me. I was too scared to look back and check. Yeah, scared stiff … but exhilarated at the same time! I had never done anything like that before. When I reminded myself for the second time that there was no way they could have followed me, I relaxed and realized I was still gripping the kryptonite lock in my hand. I also realized that in my haste I hadn’t looked to see the shock register on their faces when I had done my deed. One thing I’ll bet though, the next time a guy asks that girl to slow down so he can squeeze some other girl’s butt, she will think twice about whether or not she wants to replace another rear window.

  hilken mancini (hmancini@vtiboston.com) works a boring day job as a librarian of film and video. By night she transforms into a kryp-tonite-lock-bearing-biker-superhero, as well as a songwriter/guitarist for the Boston rock band Fuzzy
  Driven

  christine maxfield stone

  My husband was having a voicemail romance. I found out one night when I heard him pick up the phone downstairs; I listened in on the upstairs extension. Their messages to each other were stupid and breathy, childish. At first I didn’t know how to react to such a quirky sophomoric affair—but in the end, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

  I got their mailbox number from the phone company’s records. The “other woman” had unimaginatively used my husband’s birth year as their pass code. I listened daily to their intimate little exchanges. I discovered they rarely saw each other; she lived nearly three hours away. He tended to call her when he was drinking and feeling lonely and rejected (which was every time he got drunk, because I wouldn’t tolerate his sloppy, alcohol-impotent sexual advances).

  The more I listened to their forlorn little soliloquies, the more my sense of betrayal was replaced by contempt at his poor taste and her gullibility and pitiful desperation. He sighed like a lovesick poet while she urged him to decisive action, suggesting he seize our pets and daughter (actually, my daughter from my previous marriage, although he neglected to tell her that part) and make a break for happiness-ever-after.

  One day her message revealed her plan to come into the city for the night so they could rendezvous. It was on a day he and I had already arranged a late dinner together. So by midmorning he left a sappy, sad message telling her she’d have to cancel her plans; he couldn’t be there.

  I erased his message.

  Come midafternoon she had left another message, telling him she needed to know of any problems right away because she would be leaving soon. Once again he left a response, a bit more urgent sounding, telling her not to come.

  I erased that message, too.

  That evening, just before my husband’s quitting time, I went to the rendezvous point, a gas station parking lot, and waited. She soon pulled up in her beat-up station wagon. Emerging from my hiding spot behind the mini-mart, I quickly drove around front and pulled in close beside her so our drivers’ windows were together and her car was pinned against the curb. I spoke with the graciousness and cordiality the occasion called for: “Bitch,” I said, “it’s time we talked.”

  She must have recognized me. She shook her head furiously, slammed down her car lock, and reached for her window knob.

  “Wrong answer,” I muttered, happy to move on to Phase II of my plans. I put my van in reverse, backed up about twenty feet, shifted into drive, and floored it. On impact, her door buckled, her window shattered, and she flew sideways into the passenger seat.

  Time was standing still, the way it sometimes does when your system is splashing full of endorphins. I felt powerful but detached. I assessed my work as though I were an exacting demolition engineer. Not satisfied, I backed up and took aim again, this time for the car’s rear end. Crunch! Her fender dug deep into the wheel well.

  It occurred to me that in order to cause maximum grief I had to total her car. I backed up a third time and aimed for her front fender, battery, and radiator. The impact crumpled her hood like paper and flattened the front tire. By now she had escaped through the passenger door and was standing a few feet away, watching, shoulders hunched, clutching her arms to her chest.

  “Now,” I called to her matter-of-factly, “I’m gonna go get George, and we’re gonna have a talk.”

  I drove the few blocks to my husband’s job. He was just coming out, waving goodnight to friends, sauntering casually down the drive.

  “We’ve got a little problem,” I told him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just wrecked your whore’s car up at the Gas ’n ’Go.”

  As we pulled back out onto the street, the police arrived—three cars with sirens screaming and lights flashing. We were ordered from our vehicle, hands above our heads. My husband had to lie on the ground as I was handcuffed. My van and purse were searched for weapons, drugs, and anything more interesting than the wife-and-mom crap they found there. As the police drove me away, my husband yelled “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll get you out. Don’t worry!” at the back of the squad car.

  What a drama queen.

  He loved being part of the whole scene. In his mind, the incident served as proof of my devotion. For me, it was more about setting clear and unmistakable boundaries. My husband was oblivious to subtlety. He required grand statements. It wouldn’t be enough to simply say, “No honey-humping on the side.”

  It worked. The affair ended, and my husband was extremely supportive and unflinching in court, in a twisted, charging-tothe- rescue sort of way.

  But first I spent three days in jail awaiting arraignment. When I was finally brought to court, it became clear the system didn’t have a standard procedure for anomalies like me. “Enjoy,” a friend said. “It only happens once: the point at which you’ve done something truly rotten, but your record is clean as the driven snow.”

  I was originally charged with Felony Endangerment, but that was downgraded to Criminal Damage to Property. The DA and the judge acted embarrassed and apologetic for even giving me that. I looked like a hardworking mom, driving an old van, tending the garden, volunteering with her kid’s youth group—oh, yeah, and in jail on criminal charges. I was Lucy, the Law-Abiding Citizen gone awry. This confused and upset them. Worse, I was reasonable and intelligent. At the very least, to make their decision-making easier, I should have been ranting and tearing at my hair.

  I probably scared them, too. The police, attorneys, and judge knew I was a wronged wife. They likely concluded I’d been driven to this insane and desperate behavior by grief over my two-timing hubby. And who knows which of them had played with infidelity and were now fearful of being caught by their own sweet, cookie-baking, apron-wearing (knife-wielding?) wives. I made them nervous. Fatal Attraction nervous.

  I suppose I was driven, like they thought, but the whole thing was a great deal more cold and rational than they guessed. I knew I would be caught, go to jail, blah, blah, blah. But the six hundred dollars I had to fork over in damages was a small price to pay for the satisfaction I got. The whole thing still feels magnificent, triumphant. I can see what career criminals get out of their work. What a rush!

  christine maxfield stone is still driving the same Chevy van and the same husband in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Putting her foot down (pedal to the metal) seems to have done the trick, and all honey-humping has remained intramarital. She cannot, however, vouch for any of the cops, attorneys, and judges in her county.

  That Takes Ovaries! Open mikes

  (How cool is that?)

  The work of a writer does not stop when her book is written. Today book promotions and author tours are an essential part of the job description. So while editing this book and strategizing for its (and my) future, I knew I’d have do the promotion dance, too. But instead of conducting a run-of-the-mill book tour where t
he author travels from city to city, sits in front of whoever she can draw to the bookstore, reads, and takes questions, I wanted to do something new, exciting–something different. Besides, I had to do something different; due to a physical disability, being on the road is difficult for me. My hope was to find some way to involve organizations and people at the grassroots level, raise funds and awareness for girls’ issues and human rights, and at the same time limit my need to travel. Combined, these goals motivated me to imagine a completely innovative publicity and promotion strategy: I decided to tap into the main idea behind this book, the empowerment of people, and encourage women and girls to organize and speak out for themselves at each Ovaries event.

  –Rivka

  This book is important because of the voices in it—women and girls proudly shouting from the rooftops how they acted boldlyin the world. Their stories are celebrations of womanly brazenness. But, surprise!, women and girls everywhere have triumphant stories to tell. So wouldn’t it be exciting for the vibrant, feisty female voices in your community to be heard, too?

  Enter the That Takes Ovaries! Open Mike.

  There are two ways to make this happen. One is small, intimate, and held in your living room; suggestions for how to set this up are included below. The other is bigger, public, and held anywhere larger than your living room—a bookstore, coffee shop, university campus, poetry reading spot, auditorium. The guidelines for how to organize this second type of open mike are summarized below, with the full version found on the That Takes Ovaries! website (www.thattakesovaries.org). Either event will give women and girls in your area an exhilarating chance to inspire and be inspired.

  The topics can vary. General theme open mikes might draw the biggest crowds. Specific themes—sports, traveling, fighting back against racism or violence—might draw more dedicated, focused groups.

  Whatever type of open mike you hold, it is modeled after this book. If you organize one, please support the book and its goals, and encourage people to take the message of empowerment home with them by having the paperback available (translation: for sale) at your event. Yes, this is a plug for the book—and forspreading the word about the audacious, outrageous, and courageous way we women and girls live our lives.

  OVARIES IN YOUR LIVING ROOM

  It’s easy. Invite friends over, as you would for any other party, and tell them to bring their friends, too—new blood makes things more fun. If you want, use this e-mail invitation (shaded box) that the book editor (that’s me!) sent out when she held her own Living Room Open Mike.

  Before your Living Room Open Mike, please contact the book website simply to indicate you are hosting one. This is encouraged, not required. It just helps me to know where and how many living-room soirees are being held. If you’d like to support the book and have it available to sell at your event you have options: One, buy a bunch of copies from a bookstore (go local, go independent!), recoup costs when you sell them at your party, and return the ones you don’t sell. Check the store’s return policy first, and save that sales receipt. Bookstores are the best way to go, but if you simply can’t make arrangements with one, you can order books directly from Random House special sales at 1-800-729-2960. Your event, Ms. Hostess, will rouse women and girls to raise their voices and will give them a chance to look at their own lives and identify their courage; taking the book home will keep them inspired long after the evening has ended.

  Please join [your name] for a way cool

  THAT TAKES OVARIES!TM Living Room Open Mike

  Come tell & hear real-life stories about being a brazen babe. Stories can cover anything YOU have *ever* done—little or big—that was bold, gutsy, outrageous, audacious, courageous, or inspirational. It can be playful, serious, spontaneous, calculated, smart, sexy, and/or an example of leadership. It could be an act that defies racism/sexism/ableism/classism & homophobia…or not. Anything that when you think about it today, makes you nod your head with *pride* or even semi-disbelief and think, “Wow! I did that!”

  Stories should be true and short, 1-7 minutes. (Helpful to time your story aloud beforehand.) Come ready to read your written story—or share one off the top of your head.

  DATE/TIME: Anyday, Anytime

  PLACE: (Your name)’s cozy, hopefully crowded, living room

  ADDRESS: Anystreet, Anytown, Anycountry

  DIRECTIONS: Take a right, then a left, blah, blah, blah

  QUESTIONS & RSVP: Call (Your name, phone, e-mail)

  COST: Free (Or collect donations for some good causes!) (See below)

  WHO: All ages/genders invited

  (Optional lingo: Guys, come share stories about moms, sisters, and daughters.)

  Male-bashing, and Why It Won’t Be Helpful At

  Your Ovaries! Event

  Yes, we still live in a patriarchal society. Yes, the majority of people who hurt (harass, abuse, rape, murder) women and girls are men. For this reason, some stories heard at your event may be about how women and girls fought back. These stories are important; we need to tell them, people need to hear them. But if we want things to change–truly, radically change–we need to understand the full complexity of how a society steeped in sexism hurts all involved. How it tries to turn inherently strong girls into women who hesitate to use their power, and inherently compassionate boys into men with an inclination to dominate or hurt. For any one group to be free of these harmful effects of institutionalized sexism, we all need access to our full range of emotions and abilities; we all need to escape the gender roles and rules our culture declares definitive.

  There are many tactics we can use to achieve this goal. Some include anger. Anger is often an appropriate response to being hurt and sometimes a necessary first step to reclaiming one’s power (and ability to fight back against assault). But it won’t be helpful to direct anger at men who attend your open mike. They came to support women. Besides, if our ultimate goal is to “reach” someone, change their heart and mind, then anger, and certainly bashing, will likely trigger their defense mechanisms. And then those we’d specifically hoped would learn and grow can’t even hear how their attitude and behavior affect us.

  Happily, there are other tactics we can employ: education, guidance, perspective sharing, and simply telling the truth about our lives. Hearing the truth, for the first time or the hundredth time, can be transformational. Given that, set a tone at your open mike where the truth about how women and girls have been hurt and how they fought back can be told, without simultaneously asserting that all men participate in the hurting. If needed, remind your audience that good men have always stood side by side with women in our mutual struggles to be free.

  May your Ovaries! event be made up of the transformative stuff that tears down walls, not raises them. Good luck!

  When at last your living room is brimming with people, here’s what I suggest: Bring out the chips and dip, read aloud the book’s preface, called “Rivka’s Note to All Readers” (which sets the tone), plus a couple of stories (which model the storytelling style), then go around the room and have everyone share her (or his) own true stories. It is a homey, sofa-pillows type of comfortable, and it’s entertaining and inspirational—all rolled into one. Feel free to use any activities from the At the Event Itself section detailed in the Open Mike Guidelines found on the website. Make sure everyone who wants to speak gets a chance. Tell folks in advance to keep their stories short: maybe one to seven minutes? You don’t want any one person hogging the floor (oink, oink). If someone does, don’t be shy: Interrupt and announce her allotted time is about up. Then make sure it is. Being a Benign Dictator is easier than you might think. Or use an oven timer, the Instrument of Neutral Democracy.

  It’s a girl thing, so likely not a lot of guys will come. If some do, make them feel welcome (we can always use good men in the revolution, and at parties) and remind them that they can tell stories about the ovaries in their lives—female friends and family members. Some actually might, and then you are in for a treat; it is a trea
sure to hear men appreciate women’s boldness.

  Before anyone leaves, tell your girl-guests that if they want their stories considered for any subsequent Ovaries! books they should check the website for submission info.

  ORGANIZING A (BIGGER, PUBLIC) THAT TAKES OVARIES! OPEN MIKE

  If you want to have more than just a few friends over; if you want to see strangers (who are only friends you have not yet met) excitedly milling around, talking about doing audacious things; if you want to bring women and girls together to listen, clap, and cheer with huge grins on their faces; if you want to feel powerful, smart, and in charge, like you can plan and pull off a great time for lots of folks—and raise their consciousness to boot—then you want to organize a bigger, public That Takes Ovaries! Open Mike. Good for you.

  Luckily for everyone, the book’s control-freaky editor cannot be involved with most events. So instead, there are guidelines for open mike organizers, like you, to use. The guidelines are summarized below, with the full version found on the website.

  What? You say you have never organized a public event before?

  Well, hey, now’s your chance. You never know, this might start your new career in organizing for women’s empowerment. Or it could just be a lot of fun—once.

  You can work as an individual, or under the auspices of an established organization. You can hold a stand-alone event, or include the open mike as a fun, audience participatory component to an already-scheduled larger conference (big advantages: comes with a site and pre-made audience). Or you can hold it in a bookstore. Options galore! Be creative.

  Unlike a smaller Living Room Open Mike, where I have suggestions but no requirements, if you want to organize a bigger, public open mike, you will have to do Certain Things. I list them here. But first, a definition of what exactly a “bigger, public” That Takes Ovaries! Open Mike is. It is any gathering that uses “That Takes Ovaries!” or any like-wording in its promotion and: (1) is open to the public or local community—such as your city, neighborhood, or school; (2) includes more than just your friends and your friends’ friends; (3) is publicized, perhaps with a publicly posted flyer or listing in a newspaper, school, or community events calendar; and/or (4) may be covered by the media. Lastly, if you expect more than thirty people, whoever they are, consider your open mike “bigger, public.”