Dahlia Argumentative Essay

1333 Words 6 Pages

When Mom asks Dahlia and me if we want to go with her to the Nasty Women’s First Annual Camp and Rant, I tell Mom I’d rather die, but good for her. Dahlia says she wouldn’t miss it for the world. She says that no matter what, she is going, and if I don’t go, I’m being complicit to Trump’s administration. “You’re, like, a sexist,” says Dahlia. “I can’t be a sexist,” I say, “I’m a female.” “You can be sexist against women and be a woman yourself,” says Dahlia. “It could be really interesting,” says Mom. Dahlia rolls her eyes. She says, “We are all going to get together and figure out how to get Trump out of office, but if that isn’t something that interests you, you can stay home.” “Dahlia, I hate you right now,” I say, wanting
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Camp and Rant is divided into four smaller campgrounds of twenty or so people each. Mom, Dahlia and I are staying at Chiomara. Dahlia sucks at reading maps, so we end up parking half a mile from our assigned tent. On the hike in, Dahlia reads from the Fun Facts section of So Your Heart, Mind and Body Have Chosen the Fourth Annual Camp & Rant, Now What? We pass the Healing Sanctuary and Freyja’s Hall of Fertility. I learn that Chiomara was a woman who cut off the head of a Roman after he raped her. “I’d have loved to see that,” says Dahlia.
After we check in with Independent-Ingrid (that’s what her little name tag says) we dump our bags in our assigned tent, then we pick a morning workshop. I want to go to Freyja’s Hall for self-defense, and Dahlia wants to stay at Chiomara to learn how to make tea from indigenous plants. Mom says she doesn’t care what we do, but we all have to stay together. “You’re both too young,” she says. “What’s the point of us being here if we are all going to go off in different directions?”
I’d rather cut off my own arm than learn to make tea, so as a compromise, Dahlia, Mom and I are all going to something called Stitch and
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Mac reminds us to drink water. She asks if any of us need to use the restroom. When she asks this, she stares directly into my eyes, so I raise my hand and say I have to use the restroom. “There is a restroom up here?” I ask, feeling that this is a particularly stupid question.
“Wild we,” turns out to be “wild wee,” as in, pick a bush and piss yourself silly. Mac goes on a bit about how enjoyable and intimate it can be to expose one’s pussy (her word, not mine) to the elements of nature. She claims there is something visceral, sexy in the act. She encourages us all to pop a squat, not to force anything, but to enjoy this simple freedom. As she speaks, she continues to look into my eyes. It’s uncomfortable. When she sees that I haven’t made any attempts to experience my wild wee, I tell her my pee is all dried up. “I don’t know what happened,” I say.
Mom goes behind a bush, either to experience her wild wee, or to hide from Mac. Dahlia slips out of her shorts and squats in the middle of everyone. I don’t know whether she is trying to show off, or prove a point, but Mac has to take several quick steps to avoid the river of Dahlia’s urine. Even if Dahlia isn’t ashamed, I am ashamed for her.
We keep on hiking and Dahlia skips to the front to walk with Mac. Mom and I are at the rear of the

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