The idea of the "Sisterhood" is a concept PC feminists push around like Quaaludes and means, in theory, that women stick together...that women support each other in this world of oppressive men, and we've got each other's backs. To this humble observer, it's correct only because we sink our claws one inch deep in each other's backs any chance we get. Then yeah, we've got each others backs, all the way to the first aid station to disinfect the deep gouges! Last week, me, Mizz Michela, had a nice run-in with some middle-aged haggie types during an otherwise uneventful but annoying fire drill. You know the types...their lips are so pursed they could carry a kitten in their mouths without using their teeth. Their haggish expressions are so frozen in, it looks like they've been doing just that for all 50+ years of their lives. Loocy, whut happun?! you ask? The hag that started it all is that ever-so-important hall monitor with that badge of honor--the hall monitor sash--who is supposed to make sure all others are out before they escape the "fire" themselves. Me, Mizz Michela, has had some medical treatments in the last month or so that render my skin completely intolerable of the sun. In fact, a few days after each treatment I must not be in the sun at all; not even to sit near a window indoors. After that first few days, I'm not supposed to be in the sun at all during the high noon hours, 11:00 to 15:00. This fire drill was at 10:30 or so. So Michela was, in fact, not happy about having to walk outside, to stand in the middle of a sunny parking lot while the hall monitors take their roll calls and report all have "escaped." And I was trying to make sure I left at the last possible minute to minimize the time standing out in the sun, and to give my sunscreen a few more minutes to sink in. Haggie hall monitor did not like my dilly dallying. So she says she'd "burn up" looking for me, if it was a real fire, to which I responded something like, well, don't do that! Save yourself! Plus, I noted the stairwell had a long line as the entire building of exited at the same time. Sho' 'nuff, when I re-joined the mass exodus, there was still a line and a delay in the stairwell. Well, from that 20 second exchange, haggola went to her manager, and her manager felt that t was soooo serious, she must complain to the CIO of the division. Some sistahood, hags! Some sistahood you got goin' there! You want to wreck my career because I'm not happy about a fire drill? I didn't call your haggie hall monitor a bitch, or a whore, or a cee u next tuesday. Did it cross your mind there might be a reason I'm not in a rush to escape a building that is not even on fire? They sure as hell did not bother to ask before sinking the claws... See, I know the manager who went to the CIO well. I have worked well with her for 2 1/2 years. I even cut my hair a little shorter based on her suggestion, and I later told her so. For you guys not in the know, that is about the highest form of flattery a woman can get; that another woman followed your hair recommendation. End of story, that's a huge compliment. What do I get for that, for my friendliness and congeniality? CLAWS! SCRRRAAATCH all the way down my lily white back. The secondary hag could have come to me to ask why I gave her hall monitor hag some "trouble" (if you could possibly call that exchange "trouble") leaving during the drill. I could have explained to her my medical woes, and my guess is she would have been quite sympathetic. But noooooooo...it's more fun to attempt to wreck my life and stab me in the back. This hag and I later came face to face in an aisle way in which she verbally accosted me and accused me of not saying hello. Does it get any more petty than that? It was like looking at my mother coming in late from curfew... "What did you say?" she screamed at me in front of dozens of people. Um, I said the idea of the sistahood is bullshit, baby! And that's the moral of this story...next time women complain about THE MAN, remind them, oh no, we have much more to fear in our careers from THE PETTY WOMAN...middle-aged, purse-lipped, angry, women. When I've had work issues with men, it's been legitimately business-releated. Not this idiotic, petty bullshit that women seem to insist on turning into WWIII sized causes. So to the idea of a sisterhood, I say, save yourselves sistah! Both from the fire (that isn't there) and from the Sistahs! They're both quite deadly, I assure you...