It can be hard for a lady to find that perfect relationship.
This has not always been the case. It used to be a much simpler world where the man would ride in on a horse to rescue that woman and, entirely unannounced, true love had found them. Then sports and potato chips were invented and men became useless, brain-dead morons. Nowadays, a woman must be very choosy, selecting the man who, they think, will be the least disgusting to spend the rest of their life with.
Even this can be a challenge. There is always the chance that the man will be far too stupid to notice that a lady has taken an interest in him. Her affections will go unnoticed and the relationship that was meant to happen will be allowed to fade away. We men are stupid like that.
Women must sit and pine away, unable to make their affections obvious lest they be considered unladylike for being very forward towards a male. After all, it goes against every rule of being a lady to tell a man that you fancy him.
Once every four years, though, things change. Instead of having to sit in the background and wait for the man to make the move, women can throw on their best red flannel petticoat and propose to that dream guy.
That’s the way things work on Leap Day.
When that 29th day of February rolls around the control of any romantic relationship fully switches hands. According to a European tradition, this day is the day that a woman can, as long as she is wearing a red petticoat, propose marriage to the man of her dreams.
Yes, there is still the chance that the man will say no. There’s nothing to worry about here, though. According to the Ladies’ Privilege tradition, the woman will receive a nice silk gown and a kiss if their proposal is declined. It’s like a consolation prize for your emotional torment and anguish.
“Say, Patrick, you know what would be swell?” said Brigid Kildare, eating a bowl of Lucky Charms.
“What Brigid?” Patrick asked as he watered his lucky four-leaf clover.
“Why, Patrick, I would really like to propose marriage to a man,” she answered.
“Well, Brigid, that is simply not possible. See, we men are the one’s who propose marriage.” As Patrick finished talking, he recognized a crazed look in Brigid’s eyes. Being Irish, Brigid was known for her temper and, more than once, slammed Patrick’s head through a wall. Wanting to avoid this, he offered up a compromise. “How about if women are able to propose marriage ever seven years?”
“Oh, don’t do me any FAVORS, Patrick!” Brigid said, her trademark sarcasm coming out. “After all, we wouldn’t want women to be able to propose ALL THE TIME!”
At this, Patrick began to get a bit worried. Glancing at his watch, he realized he only had an hour to get to Newry for a snake removal. He knew that once Brigid got started, there would be no possibility of the conversation ending. By the time he got to Newry, the entire area would be a ghost town, the streets filled with the victims of a snake attack that he was unable to prevent.
“Tell you what,” Patrick said. “How about we make it every five… no… every FOUR years? Every four years, women can propose marriage, but they must warn the men by wearing something ridiculous like a red flannel petticoat. If they don’t, the proposal does not, in any way, count. The rest of the time, we’ll leave everything the way it is.”
And so, that is the way it was.
So women, there is still time today. Strap on your best flannel petticoat and march down to that man you have always had your eyes on. The worst that can happen is he will turn you down and crush you emotionally.
You’ll get a silk gown, though. That’s not too shabby.