Chapter 12 Perfectly Normal #2
dip to pick up her copy of The Feminine Mystique.
“So, does anybody want to talk about the book?”
“Oh, I do!”
Bitsy waved her arm like a third grader with the answer to a chalkboard math problem.
“But first, I have a question. Is it normal to hate your husband?”
* * *
Viv handed Bitsy another paper napkin. She blew her nose into it, snuffling.
“Better now?” Viv patted her shoulder. “Look, you don’t need to feel so guilty. There’s not a wife in the world who hasn’t
hated her husband at some point.”
Charlotte twirled her cigarette above her head as if to second the motion. Margaret, who had a mouthful of carrots and onion dip, nodded.
“And it’s not like you really mean it,” Viv said. “It’s just a momentary flare-up, like sparking a match. Poof! Then it’s
gone. You’ll get past it.”
Bitsy dabbed the napkin against her nose. “Do you really think so? I’m so angry. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry,”
she said, sounding genuinely surprised. “And the terrible part is, none of this is really King’s fault.”
Charlotte made a sputtering sound. “Don’t be an idiot. Of course it is.”
“Oh, come on,” Viv said. “You can’t blame one man for all of society’s ills.”
Charlotte lifted her copy of the book. “I thought you said you’d read it.”
Bitsy shook her head. “I don’t think this has anything to do with the book. It’s something that goes way back.” She sniffled
again. “Did I ever tell you how King and I met? And how he proposed to me? Twice?”
There was a collective shaking of heads. Bitsy reached for her glass and took a gulp.
“I was a junior in college. The regular vet at the stud farm where my father was barn manager had a heart attack, so King
was filling in for a few months. We ran into each other in the barn pretty often, and I liked him well enough, but we never
really talked about anything besides horses and the weather. So when he asked me to marry him, I was shocked,” she said, widening
her eyes to underscore the point. “Really shocked. I thanked him and all but said I was too young, that I wanted to finish
school before settling down.”
Charlotte smirked and tilted her chin into the air, exhaling smoke from her cigarette. “Let me guess. That made him even more
determined. He plied you with candy and flowers and insincere promises until you finally gave in. Typical. Men love a conquest.”
“No, no. It wasn’t like that,” Bitsy said. “He was very nice about it, even a little sheepish. He said he understood and that
he just figured he’d ask while he had the chance. It was really kind of sweet. But the old vet came back a week later, and
I didn’t see King for months.”
Bitsy paused to take a somewhat smaller sip before continuing her story.
“What I hadn’t told King—or anybody, because I knew the odds were long—was that I hoped to become a vet myself. In the fall
of my senior year, I had an A-minus average and stood fourth in my class. Veterinary colleges are very selective, but with
grades like that, I figured I had a chance of getting in. Maybe not to my first-pick school,” Bitsy said, “but somewhere.”
“But you didn’t. All your applications were turned down because you’re a woman.”
Margaret swatted Charlotte’s shoulder. “Let her finish, will you?”
Charlotte pressed her lips together. Bitsy did the same, then took a breath.
“I didn’t apply,” she said. “Not anywhere.”
“What?” Viv asked, looking confused. “Why not?”
“Because my adviser, who was also the department head, refused to write me a letter of recommendation. Vet schools aren’t
producing enough graduates to keep up with demand, and he said that even though I was a good student, writing a letter on
my behalf would be a waste of time. No school would take a spot that could be filled by a man and give it to a woman who would
end up leaving the program or the profession once she got married.”
Margaret and Viv were seething by this time, and Bitsy looked like she might start crying again. But Charlotte was the one
who said, or rather shouted, what all of them were thinking.
“What an ass!”
“That’s the word,” Bitsy agreed.
“So that was it?” Viv asked, incredulous. “You just gave up?”
“Not right away,” Bitsy said. “I tried to argue—told him I didn’t plan to marry and had turned down a perfectly good proposal a few weeks before.
He just patted me on the cheek, said, ‘Don’t you worry, honey.
A pretty girl like you will have men lined up around the block.
You’ll find the right one eventually.’ Then he got up and showed me the door. ”
Margaret’s fists were clutched so tightly that her knuckles hurt. Had Bitsy’s professor been in the room, she’d have punched
him in the nose. “So he thought you’d broken up with a boyfriend and that vet school was just a backup plan to keep you from
being an old maid?”
“Pretty much,” Bitsy said.
Margaret growled and called the arrogant academic the same name Charlotte had used. Viv scooped onion dip onto a celery stick,
shaking her head.
“The guy in charge of admissions at my nursing program was just the same. Made me jump through all kinds of hoops, kept asking
why I’d want to work instead of finding a man to support me. Then he had the nerve to ask me out on a date! He was disgusting.
And married.” Viv crunched her celery and looked at Bitsy. “Then what happened?”
“I pled my case to a few more of my professors,” Bitsy said, “but they all said the same thing. They wouldn’t write me the
required recommendation. And then . . . Then my father died. He was up on the barn roof where he had no business being, trying
to nail down some loose shingles. He slipped and broke his neck.”
Bitsy fell silent for a moment, squeezing the wad of damp napkins in her fist.
“Of course we were devastated. But there was also a lot going on. Prescott Farms had a house for the barn manager; that’s where I grew up and where we lived.
But we knew they’d have to hire a new manager.
So, in addition to grief and funeral arrangements, Mom and I worried about where and how we were going to live.
Mom had always been a housewife. I had one semester left of school and no job prospects.
It was scary.” Bitsy picked up her cocktail glass, took a sip and another breath. “Then King came to Dad’s funeral.”
Charlotte dropped her jaw. “To propose? Like Rhett Butler? Wow! That’s ballsy.”
Bitsy shook her head. “He didn’t propose until the next day. As soon as I saw his car drive through the gate, I knew why he’d
come. And I won’t lie. A part of me was relieved. He seemed like the answer to everything. I didn’t say yes right away because
I knew it meant closing the door on becoming a vet. But it looked like that was never going to happen anyway. By denying me
the opportunity to study on grounds that I’d eventually end up getting married, they boxed me in and made sure I couldn’t
do anything else.
“King said he knew I didn’t love him, but he promised that I’d learn to and said he’d work hard to make me happy. Then he
started talking about opening a practice in Virginia. He made it sound like we’d be doing it together, as partners.”
“And that’s what a good marriage should be,” Viv said, “a partnership. And at least you were able to finish college. That’s
bound to come in handy one of these days.”
Bitsy paused, twisting her lips as if weighing the wisdom of saying something more, but then only shrugged, stretching her
hand to Charlotte and wiggling her fingers. Charlotte passed over her cigarette. Bitsy took a drag, then sighed out the smoke.
“I guess I do help,” she said at last. “In my way. If I wasn’t taking care of the house, King couldn’t work as many hours as he does. Building
a practice from scratch isn’t easy. You can’t make a living treating a horse here and a horse there. You need connections
with the folks who keep a full stable and can afford the best care. Mrs. Graham has just the one horse, but she knows everybody.
King is taking care of Delilah now, and he’s hoping it’ll open some doors.”
Viv spread her hands. “There, you see? And none of it would have happened if you hadn’t taken that job at the stables and introduced King to Mrs. Graham. So you are partners.”
Though Bitsy nodded, she didn’t look entirely convinced.
“I guess. When he proposed, he told me how much he admired that I had goals and wanted to finish my studies—said he was impressed
by the way I handled horses too. ‘You’ve got the touch,’ he said. ‘Just like your daddy.’ The way he talked made me think
we’d be working side by side, getting our hands dirty. But . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Maybe that’s just what I wanted
to hear. Either way, it hasn’t worked out like I thought it would.”
“What about his promise?” Margaret asked. “Did you learn to love him?”
“Well, not today, obviously,” Bitsy said with a small smile. “Most of the time we get along, though the age difference can
get in the way. He’s so anxious to start a family. Though I can understand why, it’s a lot of pressure. But yes, I do love
him. King’s not a bad man.”
Charlotte dabbed imaginary tears from her eyes. “Gosh. ‘Not a bad man.’ Kind of gets you right here, doesn’t it?” She thumped
her chest.
“Well, he’s not! He can really be very sweet. Did you know he brings me flowers on the fifth of every month to celebrate another
month of marriage? He never forgets,” Bitsy said, her expression softening. “He’s good to me. And he really does try to make
me happy.”
“Then why do you hate him?” Charlotte asked.
Bitsy laughed nervously. “I don’t really hate him. I think the book just kind of . . . set me off, stirred up bad memories. Up until now, you see, I thought it was
just me. And even though the professors said they couldn’t recommend me because I’m a woman, a part of me thought there was
more to it, that they said no because I just wasn’t good enough.
“So when I read about how many women are denied the chance to pursue certain professions because it’s assumed they’ll quit after marriage, or how colleges alter the curriculum so women are only learning what they’ll need to know as wives and mothers, or that psychology classes are teaching girls that having ambitions beyond homemaking is a sign of neurosis—”
“Oh, do not get me started on psychiatrists,” Charlotte said, her cocktail sloshing over the rim of her glass as her arm swept through
the air. “Especially Dr. Barry. He’s the worst.”
“That bothered me too,” Margaret said. “You know, I had to take one of those marriage and family courses in college—all the
women did, but none of the men. There weren’t any textbooks, just a lot of role-playing and lectures on how to support our
future husbands.
“Once we were asked to role-play how a fictional fiancé would react if he found out we had a job that paid more than his,
to imagine how it might damage his ego and jeopardize the relationship. I didn’t think of it as indoctrination at the time,
but it was.”
“Exactly!” Bitsy cried. “The more I read, the more I started thinking about what happened to me, and the madder I got! Logically,
I realize none of it was King’s fault. He didn’t get in the way of my becoming a vet. All he did was marry me. But . . . it’s
all mixed up in my mind somehow. Whenever I think about my horrible adviser, I end up picturing King’s face.”
“Hmm,” Charlotte murmured. “Wonder what Dr. Barry would have to say about that?”
Viv reached for Margaret’s sidecar and took a tiny sip. “Okay, but help me understand something. What does all that have to
do with you turning vegetarian?”
“Oh,” Bitsy said, turning a bit pink. “Well . . . it doesn’t. Not really. The thing I said to Helen about hell freezing over
before I’d cook another steak for King was just me boiling over after reading the book. The thought of eating animals has
always bothered me. I wish King felt the same, but I guess we’re just different,” she said, shrugging. “Doesn’t make me think
less of him.”
Bitsy took another puff of Charlotte’s cigarette, frowning as she exhaled the smoke.
“Although,” she said slowly, as if reexamining her earlier statement. “It does seem a little cruel, doesn’t it? I mean, how
can you say you love animals and devote your life to taking care of them but still feel absolutely no compunction about eating
them?”