Amelia is uttermost disgusted by what P&P P represents. For Amelia, the power relation between P&P is–beyond dispute–the worst form of human abuse, hateful, and proof of the ubiquitous gender oppression that has permeated all of humanity, persisted throughout all of human history, found a home in too much of human activity. For Amelia, P&P is just one of the oppression’s countless incarnations, being its graphic variation, P, yet another form. She fears it viscerally. She sees it printed on paper, glossy or not, as much as displayed in the frames of videos, with a price tag or not. She reads it in words and in the silence of an act. Simply not to attend P&P P would understate her disapproval; she would boycott it.
Amelia has never met the sisterhood of three college friends who are planning to attend, and have fun at, the upcoming P&P P, tonight. Excited, the three sisters plan clothing, make-up, and beverages for the night, laughing out loud simply at the thought of what is going to happen. One of the sisters wants to be P, the other chooses to be &P, while the third trusts her choice to the creative imagination of her sisters.
How people think and feel about, and interpret, similar realities in radically contrasting ways is a peculiarity of human behavior that sometimes leaves me speechless, as much as in disbelief and confusion. Thus, I’m not commenting any further. That said, it is beyond fascinating.
P&P P stands for Pimp & Prostitute Party.
(Amelia is a fictional name for a real person. The unnamed sisterhood as well as the party are real, too.)