Animal Magnetism

The Purpose of Plumage

Aunt Mimi’s best friend, apart from Mother and Delphine Falkenroth, was Butch, her Boston Terrier, which she insisted on calling a Boston Bull. A large fellow, Butch was always the picture of elegance in his “tuxedo.” But appearances can be deceiving, because he did not always behave like a gentleman. The two of them went everywhere together, except for the garden club because once Butch ate some tulip bulbs belonging to Mrs. Mundis. Aunt Mimi muttered they weren’t worth squat, but nonetheless to keep the peace she paid Mrs. Mundis, who was well off, and she no longer brought Butch to garden club. Just as well, because the lectures bored him, which is why he ate the tulip bulbs in the first place.

I have written elsewhere, in fictional form, of the fierce competition at the garden shows. Aunt Mimi, famed for her daffodils as well as her beautiful clothing, spiked her daffs with gin. What bright happy daffodils they were. My aunt, a very attractive woman, declared alcohol never touched her lips. We always knew when she had “tested” her daffodil mixture because Butch would refuse to kiss her.

Both Mother and Aunt Mimi suffered from lead foot. Put them behind the wheel of any machine—tractor, car, motor cycle—and you burnt the wind. If Mother wasn’t riding shotgun, Butch was. He loved to go “bye byes,” and the only time Aunt Mimi evidenced any inclination to keep to sensible speeds around corners was when Butch was her passenger, because he’d fall over. I had to sit in the back. The dog came first.

My esteemed aunt’s driving capabilities were so well known in the county that when people spied her coming down the road in the opposite direction they pulled over. Pedestrians moved far off the road. She’d wave, nod, and smile but she rarely slowed down.

One frosty moonlit night, Aunt Mimi was driving Mother, Butch, and me back from some ameliorative function. Those two took part in so many committees, fundraisers, social events, I couldn’t keep track, and this one ran way late. As we reached the town square a young woman, swaddled in a heavy coat and scarf, wearing fashionable high-heeled shoes despite the cold, slowly trawled the sidewalk.

Aunt Mimi sniffed, “Only owls and whores are abroad this time of night.”

“What’s a whore?”

Mother quickly replied, “A whore is a woman who sells her body to men.”

“Julia, don’t tell her that!”

Mother considered this admonition. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Big cities have whores. In the country we do it for free.”

“Juts!” Aunt Mimi peeled around the other side of the square a bit too fast, but we stayed upright.

I hugged Butch. He was accustomed to his human’s behavior.

“Oh, Sis, she has to learn about these things sometime.”

“Why would anyone pay?” My curiosity was getting the better of me.

“This isn’t a proper topic for a child of your tender years.” My aunt hit the know-it-all tone. “Suffice it to say that ladies of quality guard their virtue.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I noticed a lady in a ratty fur coat urinating against the side of a building. “Look, that lady is peeing standing up.”

The square after nine at night had a certain amount of demimonde traffic, which is putting it nicely.

“Don’t look!” Aunt Mimi cried, too late.

“How can she do that?” I was completely fascinated, wondering if there was a trick I’d missed in learning to relieve myself.

“She is a he.” Mother started to laugh.

“Juts, will you shut up?” Aunt Mimi started to laugh, too.

“If that person hadn’t been going to the bathroom how would you know?”

Mother let out peals of laughter. “The coat, honey, the coat. No real woman would be caught dead in that tatty thing.”

“And the makeup.” Aunt Mimi now warmed to the subject. “Ladies of quality don’t paint their faces, and when men do it, they always overdo. Always overdo the accessories, too.”

“Now, Sis, we use lipstick and a hint of rouge.”

“Lipstick.” She refused to admit to rouge.

“When in trouble, buy new lipstick.” Mother turned to face me in the backseat. “Remember that, kid. Might save you some day.”

“Why would that man dress like a woman?” I wasn’t giving up.

“Envy.” Mother giggled.

A silence from the driver was finally broken. “You know, Juts, you’ve got a point there. Why else?”

“We get to wear silks and furs and pretty colors. What do they get? Blue, brown, gray, black. I’d perish from visual boredom. And let’s not forget hats, gloves, purses, shoes in all different colors. What do they get? One wallet. It’s better to be a woman.”

They started a review of their women friends’ clothing, color palettes, and house décor. I listened for a time but my mind flitted back to owls and other birds.

Some species change coat with the seasons, but no other animals flash about like birds. Who can forget the sight of a male cardinal in the snow? An iridescent indigo bunting darting out in front of you? Apart from the brightly colored birds there are the ones who blend in, like woodcocks. Even a turkey, fantail folded, can take a moment to discern because of the coloring. When the male unfolds his tail, it’s impressive, for they are big birds with incredible eyesight. Even if you’re in camouflage, still as a mouse, move your eyes and a turkey will see the whites and fly off. Anyone who can bag a turkey has my utmost respect.

Bird plumage never goes out of fashion. Mother’s and Aunt Mimi’s laughter about the transvestite’s tatty coat told me I’d better make the right choices about my plumage. Mother didn’t expect me to wear a tiara while driving the tractor, but she pounded into me the importance of dressing for the occasion. I used to do it but it’s gotten too expensive. And one time about twenty years ago, a media escort said to me at a signing, “Do you want to look richer than your readers?”

Actually, I’d like to look a little dressed up, but the ordeals of air travel have made it all but impossible.

Bird displays send signals and so do our clothes. Even in this informal and sloppy age, clothes still make the man, and the woman. Aunt Mimi’s dog always wore his tuxedo. Someday I think I’ll show up at a formal event with a Boston Terrier and I’ll wear a tuxedo, too. You’ll recognize me because I’ll be the one in heels.