Christine

and girlfriends by the umbrella.”

Christine looked to her right where a white umbrella erected high into the air and under it, sipping flutes of water, were several women, some of them young, some of them old, some of them lovers and some of them wives and all of them, with a peaceful content smile dressed upon their stupid faces.

“Are you really gonna just sit here and let them tell you where you can and can’t go?” she said to the women.

The women looked at each other; first to their left and then to their right and then back and forth and then back again, all shaking their heads in dumbfounded disagreement unto whatever it seemed they should not have an opinion.

“We have every right to be in there, just as they do. Seriously, what century is this?” she said.

“Please don’t make a scene. They’ll bring out crackers soon” said one of the women.

“Are you high?” said Christine.

“Listen, we don’t want to bother the gentlemen in their place” said one of the women.

“Bother them? Their place? This is everyone’s place, this is everyone’s world. We already fought this stupid argument decades ago. I’m a manager for Christ’s sake, a female manager” screamed Christine.

“But you’re not an executive hunny” said one of the older women. “Now hush a bit, you’re not acting very lady like.”

The wire pulling tight against Christine’s heart and soul was now primed to trip.

“I say we protest. I’m serious. They can’t get away with this sexist macho attitude. I say we protest, right here, right now. Who’s in?” said Christine.

The women all looked nervous but easily led. They looked to each other for assurance but were no match for Christine’s growing confidence and assertion.

“We’ll get some paper from across the road, make up some signs. We’ll picket them. We can’t let them get away with it.

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