With peacocks, size matters.
Peahens – like women – are fantastically confused creatures, and as a result have driven their male counterparts to the brink of madness. The miserable, overstressed cocks spend seven months enjoying the biochemical equivalent of hard labor to develop a regalia of feathers that they vigorously shake, all day and night, until a fat hen picks them for mating.
They call it molting; I call it oppression!
The science is still unclear on whether the attraction is a result of the occelli – the little eye shapes, yo – the size of the feathers or the speed of the shake. But consensus has been reached on another front: bling works.
From an evolutionary point-of-view it may make sense. An animal that can spend its resources developing fantastic plumage, a full mane or sharper stripes must necessarily have an excess of resources, and will more likely be able to father healthy younglings.
Fine; where does the Mercedes fit in?
Sunday night at the pub looked to be a quiet one – Pearl Jam in the air, quiet conversation, and all-round satisfaction. The peahen at the bar was out of place.
She was decidedly alone, and had been staring at her empty shot glasses for as long as I’d been watching. Her eyes met mine, and with barely a smile she managed to bypass my brain and communicate directly with my wallet, which bought her another round of shots.
A grand mating gesture, time to shake my feathers – or failing that, get her very intoxicated.
I managed to hold her interest for about ten minutes. The magic I hustled disappeared in a puff of dollars the minute my friend flanked her.
We’re not that close anymore.
He had this watch, you see; this sparkling gold watch with pretty little diamonds all over its face. Whatever chemistry I fabricated between us, whatever rapport I’d managed to establish with her, all this paled to the glittering; diamonds are a hen’s best friends.
I fought back. I made interesting remarks, witty retorts – even a genuine compliment or two. Sure she’d listen, but I knew where her mind was. I wobbled back to my pack, and accepted condolences.
It was beautiful. He flashed a Platinum card to pay for his tab – hens know their plastic – and before he could reach it he had to remove the Versace money clip, a gold ballpoint (I guarantee you he hasn’t written a sentence since high school) and the laser-key to his Mercedes.
I was dead to her. The card would buy dresses, lunches and dinners; there’s your food and shelter. The money clip was a responsible accessory, and there’s your good parenting.
And the Mercedes? Well, there’s your large peacock.
I'm Karl, and I'm an acquired taste.
I've been an editor for 4 years, a writer for 5 more, and a geek ever since I wrote Pong on my first Atari. I'm married to the perfect woman and we live in the desert. 
As usual, well said. I won’t argue with you here, such women do exist (and even men, too!). Personally, I do a pretty good job of avoiding such people altogether; our mutual dislike and lack of interest for one another doesn’t hurt with that either. But hey, gold diggers will always remain just that – gold diggers. And I suppose that in the context of biological superiority, money does play a role. Just think, soon enough biological engineering will reach a point that parents will be able to select the color of their children’s eyes and hair, and perhaps add in an organ or two while they’re at it. All that for the right price. Aaaahhh, if only Hitler were alive today…
@Inna
GODWIN’s law, anyone?^^
@Inna
I suppose genetic engineering will even the battlefield. The only real advantage then would be currency, or who could buy the latest and greatest kidney. It’ll also make it boring I suppose. But hey, all in the name of progress!
On another note, one more week of work or so and I’ll get to reading. Fingers crossed.
@Agénor
Isn’t there a minimum number of posts before Godwin’s law becomes applicable?
@Agénor
Actually, Karl is right, Godwin’s Law doesn’t make any sense when the discussion involves, let me see….one person. And also, I wasn’t making a comparison here in any way to Hitler; I was just suggesting that Hitler would have a ball with genetic engineering – a world full of blond-haired blue-eyed Aryans.
@Karl
I’m still waiting!