Flapper Girl

I realize I've been blogging an excessive amount lately. But as luck would have it, I am stuck in the SLC airport until 4:00, and my flight was supposed to leave at 12:50. I'm bored out of my mind, so blogging I am.

You know how people ask you when you would choose to be born if you could pick?

For as long as I can remember, I've always said either the 1920's or the 1940's.

I'm not sure why. The entire idea of flapper girls and women a la Rosie the Riveter has always fascinated me. I guess I liked them because they weren't afraid to break out of cultural/societal norms and be something that was slightly scandalous at the time. You don't like the idea of me making guns in factories? Too bad. You don't want me to cut my hair? Oh well. The hair cutting and smoking and drinking of the 1920s might not seem like a big deal. Actually, it might sound kind of like a bad deal. But I guess what I'm getting at is that that was one of those moments in history where women decided they'd do what they wanted to do, not just what society said was proper. I'm not saying they were necessarily happier as they were, but at least they made some kind of conscious decision as to what kind of person they wanted to be, even if it was a little out there.

To tell the truth, sometimes I rather feel like a flapper girl--a little out there--in this BYU bubble of Mormon culture.

But hey, what the hell?

I wouldn't change it.