I lately see that the stalwart ladies of conscience have, once again, rallied under the banner of Women’s Rights as they have done so many times before, and while I applaud the work of the noble championesses of liberty I must say, at my advanced age, I fear that I have all the rights that I can easily handle. More often than not these days, while riding on a streetcar, I must strike a gentleman on the head with my umbrella before he will relinquish his seat to me. I can envision a time, when my rights are fully bestowed, that I ask a gentleman for his seat and he replies, “Why no, madam, I have as much right to this seat as you, and you have as much right to stand on a streetcar as any man.” While I am sure that in this case my umbrella will be just as effective as previously, the additional back-sass, however justified, will not be welcome. What I am saying, ladies, is let us not throw the baby out with the bathwater.

I am sure you are all familiar with the old adage “throw the baby out with the bathwater,” but how many of you can say you have actually seen the thing? Precious few, I’ll wager. Well I have seen it and it is not a pretty sight. I was living on the second floor of a house on Columbus Avenue and above me lived a young couple with a new baby. While I had never seen this baby, its howling and wailing kept me and the other occupants of the house up all night—but that is neither here nor there. As it happened, one afternoon I had set to baking, muffins or some such thing, and had a roaring fire in the stove. I went to open the flue but could not budge it. The smoke, with nowhere else to go, quickly filled the room.

I rushed to the window, raised the sash and stuck my head out to get a breath of clean air. I had no sooner put my head through the window when it was drenched by an abundance of falling water. I thought it must be a nor’easter set to add flooding to my woes, but when I looked up I could tell right away that it was bathwater because I could see that the baby had been thrown out as well!

In those days my eyesight was much better than now; today I would likely be unable to distinguish a falling baby from a sack of potatoes, but on that day I could not only tell it was a baby but determine its gender as well. It was a naked baby boy plummeting earthward. My mind too was more agile than today, for I recall having time to ponder if the boy, upon hitting the ground, would land on all fours like a cat and simply crawl away or if, like a falling basket of eggs, he  would be irreparably damaged upon impact. In the end, averting risk trumped satisfying curiosity and I outstretched my arms to catch the unfortunate boy.

I pulled him inside and he immediately began howling as he flopped around in my arms like a landed bass. His excitement had reached such a state that he lost all control and heeded natures call with mad abandon all over the room. Anyone who has ever changed the diaper of a baby boy can vouch for the fact that the imp, with his privates unrestrained, will relieve himself in mighty torrents, with no regard for his benefactor or her furnishings. Suffice it to say, this one was a veritable fire hose in miniature.

As I commented earlier, my mind was quite acute in those days, and this last image quickly suggested a method for solving both of my immediate problems. I pointed the boy at my smoking fire and his healthy spray extinguished the flames in no time. However, while this seemed like a splendid idea at the time, future lightings of the stove emitted an effluvia so vile that cooking became impossible. I tried dousing the stove with eau de cologne but that only made matters worse; when lit, the stove made the room smell like a waterfront brothel and for a fortnight at least I had to take my meals at the Parker House.

By rights, I felt that snatching the baby from the jaws of death would entitle me ownership of the creature, but at the time I had no need for a baby and gave him back to his parents directly. Of course today he would be a strapping young man, useful for carrying parcels and such, but I suppose the bother of raising him would have outweighed any advantage, so I think my decision at the time was correct.

There are many lessons to be learned from this story; I shall limit my discussion to this one: not everything that falls from the sky is a blessing. So, girls and ladies, if by legislation or decree, you ever obtain full emancipation, be sure to hold on tight and point it in the proper direction. By the same token, do not sit and wait. I can’t tell you how many times I opened that window and received nothing; had I been expecting a baby to fall from the sky I would have been disappointed every time but one. My advice to you is this; stand tall and take what you want, just as any man would do. This has always worked for me.

Your humble servant,

Mrs. T. Pennyroyal