A superpower dress code

An April 19 article from The Associated Press about the ramifications of women's fashion in Iran has slipped under the international radar, but I'm here to blow the lid off of this amazing revelation. In Iran, one of the world's most earthquake-prone countries, women are required by law to conceal their entire bodies under scarves and draped clothing, called hijab, when in public. However, some women, most notably young sassy women, disregard the law and wear revealing clothes, like tight coats and scarves loose enough to show their hair. This is the American equivalent of having to endure the sight of some girls revealing a dearth of cleavage — to their navel — and more blubbercapped whale tail than you ever imagined could exist. Without, of course, the whole it's illegal, and I can torture you to death for your transgressions thing. A bonus, even with all revealed things considered. According to the AP report, Tehran's acting Friday Prayer leader, Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi, told Iranian media that "many women who do not dress modestly lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society." I totally understand his sentiment. The last time I saw too much of what should be kept in private, or at least confined to a beach, on a young American female person I said almost the same thing: "Gross. Were you and your boyfriend, Mr. Crackmeister there, going for stupid with that fashion look? Because it worked." The truly big news i s what Sedighi went on to say about the Iranian women's hi jab- opt i onal style transgressions: that this clothing rebellion "increases earthquakes." Yes, you read that correctly. Iranian women cause earthquakes by revealing the barest hint of a curve or a mere few locks of hair. I am going on record to say: That is so wickedly awesome! H e a d l i n e s around the world should be blaring: " I ranian Wo m e n a r e Superheroes in Disguise!" Those Iranian superchicks got it going on, and I'm totally jealo u s o f t h e i r superpowers. Man, if I were an Iranian chick, I could kick some serious bad guy booty. I see a car-jacker going after a sweet BMW, I throw back my head scarf and — bam! — a hair-induced 4.0 temblor knocks the perpetrator to the ground. I see a mugger attacking a grandma, I just smooth my bodice over my waist and — ka-pow! — that punk is going down. Down into the crevasse I opened up under his mama's-egg-money stealing self until the proper authorities arrived to haul him to the slammer. Oh, the heady power. Y'know, with major earthquakes occurring in recent months in Haiti, Chile, Mexico and China, I'll bet the women there just took delivery of their earth-shattering superpowers and don't know yet how to contain them. And those hot-lava super-mamas in Iceland could stand to find their volcano control button too. On the other hand, I see that my Americanness is worthless. I mean, I pretty much had figured out already that my Europeasant heritage was helping me get about nowhere in life, but this just proves that my genetic soup sucks. The closest thing I have to a superpower is a pair of hefty German thighs that rub together so badly when I walk that I refuse to run because I'm afraid I'll start a friction fire. What kind of superhero crime fighting can I do with that? "Halt, you stupid bad guy. Don't make me chase you — I'll catch my pants on fire and ... and ... if the cops ever catch you, you'll be charged with accessory to assault with a flaming fashion debacle!" That's not awesome at all. (Guess I won't be needing a secret identity any time soon at http://viewnorth40.wordpress. com.)