Matthew Amiot
Mr. Yourman
AP US History
March 27 2015 Dear John,
The most peculiar plight has transpired. Whilst on my daily morning amble, I passed the well in the nearest the eastern edge of our courtyard, I tripped on a scion of your god forsaken red pine tree, and fell into the well. As disconcerting as that sounds, when I arose, I found myself in a very strange place. I was in the middle of a pond, surrounded by ducks and trees. Befuddled and sodden, I waded to the rock lined bank, where I disembarked. After climbing over a chain, I found myself atop a very dense, hard black flooring. It was unlike anything that had ever witnessed. I walked abruptly towards what resembled a cobblestone road. Halfway there, a young man, in tattered clothes standing on a four wheeled platform approached me.
The boy gandered at me as if I was an artifact of very ancient descent. Anger shot through me like a Charleville musket; however, I mitigated my agitation and remained composed. I inquired, “How do you do, little fellow?”. He scolded me and reciprocated my kindness with bluntness,”Calm your britches old lady, no one talks like that”. Appalled by his curtness, I inquired if he knew he was speaking to, to which he brushed me off with little more than a shrug of indifference. Growing more furious by the second, I exclaimed, “Listen boy, it is
Mrs. Adams to you, have you not manners?” With even more dissent and malice, he exclaimed,
“EXCUSE ME MISS, but this is 2011 and I don’t have to take your crap!”. Bewildered by the
Amiot 2
combination of the boy’s udder boorishness and by the boy’s delirious fabrication of the date, I exclaim, “What year did you say it was?” to which he responded. “ February 16th, 2011...wait a second, are you Abigail Adams? the Abigail Adams?”. After some discussion and detail unraveling, I followed the young lad, Matthew, back to his flat. I was ecstatic, completely thrilled to be in the future. I couldn’t wait to pick his brain about the evolution of women's rights in this great nation that we founded. When we arrived at Matthew’s house, I sat down at his dining table, which was draped in an odd material similar to that of a snake’s shedding. He fetched me a spot of tea, and sat down.
Matthew spoke about how he had learned of me in his AP US History course, although haven’t a clue what AP is. His mentor, magnificent, brilliant, and handsome man, named Mr. K
Yourman led the teachings on women’s rights in America. We began with me. THEY READ
OUR LETTERS! Privacy invasion aside, I see my letters rang true in the ears of history a polar opposite to what they rang in yours.I mean I gave you one job. ONE JOB. I said “Remember the ladies”. How can you forget that. You never seem to forget that when we go out together. I digress. It seems as though I kickstarted the movement, a jolly good feat if you ask me.
However,
the movement didn’t get moving along until the mid 1800’s. OH MY GOD I’M GOING TO DIE
ON OCTOBER 28TH 1818! I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT! With that bone shaking thought out of the way, there were two fine ladies that came to my attention: Elizabeth Cady
Stanton and Lucretia Mott. After being denied access to an antislavery convention (which sounds preposterous; slavery isn’t all that bad), these women organized what they called the
Seneca Falls Convention in 1848. At this convention, which almost 200 women attended, and spoke about the condition of women in society. In the end, they created the Declaration of
Amiot 3
Sentiments, which described the injustices done unto women and called upon them to petition for their rights the same rights you forgot to include while you were at your own convention with your friends.
Oopsies.
Another beautiful pair of women fighters were Susan B. Anthony and
Elizabeth Cady Stanton. They founded the National Women Suffrage Association, with the goal of achieving voting rights for
