Loretta responds to Ken’s “The Full Monty”

What was Ken smoking? Did you read his Final Word on the fragility of male egos? Issue that man a WUI, officer! Clearly he was writing under the influence of something or sucking up to females. If the difference between kissing behinds and brown-nosing is simply depth perception, Ken went deep to prove a point. Women, behold, some modern males are capable of taking the “hat” off and exposing themselves. No patronizing mansplaining—just some scratch and spit men’s locker room candor.

The truth will set you free, guys. Your secret is safe with us, even if Dorothy and generations of women already knew that the Wizard of Oz—the little man behind the curtain with the big voice—was underneath the hat. Nonetheless, the confessional was refreshing, and I agree Donald Trump is four “oinks” on a scale of 1 to 5. Without wealth and privilege, Archie’s wife, Edith, from “All In The Family,” would be beyond The Donald’s reach.

However, let’s be honest—there is a segment of women who are willing participants in the traditional gender dance and who perpetuate pop-culture’s objectification of females. We need to come clean and give ourselves a “Brazilian” equivalent to Ken’s “Full Monty.” Breast implants, cosmetic surgery, tattoos, provocative advertizing and seductive clothes are tools of enticement for many women. Play with fire, get burnt with fire.

Don’t get me wrong. At age 36, I wasn’t part of the feminist movement of the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s, and I didn’t participate in workplace protests or burn any bras. In fact, I love my push-up—everything goes better with cleavage—and I can use the help after two kids. And I am not against those who aspire to be arm candy for the Donald Trump’s in life. Go for it, ladies. The feminist movement is about free will, choice, equality and self-determination. If some of my fellow sisters decide to exercise their free will differently, so be it.

A pop-culture beauty, I am not—so if I sound just a little bitter, so be it, too. I am a wholesome, natural beauty, who works hard to be a thoughtful and caring mother and woman. My children adore me; puppies love me; even my ex-husband respects me. Nothing else should matter. Who cares if life has added a few pounds here or there? I am safe in a wind storm, okay! The point is that my best and most precious qualities aren’t the gifts that I was born with—those were just fortuitous rolls of the dice. No one earns their genetic characteristics. Some of us get a good roll, some don’t. The measure of woman, of any human being for that matter, is whether she worked hard to become the best version of herself that she could. Or did she take the easier path and coast on her Godgiven gifts? That’s my litmus test for my life. My self-respect is earned, not imprinted at birth.

This is my fundamental gripe with the sisterhood. We can do better. My romantic life is an uphill battle against pop-culture images and expectations of the modern woman. I struggle just to be appreciated for all that I am. As women, we need to take responsibility for our part in perpetuating this unhealthy dynamic. At times, we are our own worst enemy. There, Ken, I matched your Full Monty with a Brazilian wax.

I am grateful each and every day that my mother and my grandma fought and sacrificed for my rights. Grandma tells stories about her generation’s fight for equality, for the right to choose a career or raise children or both, and for the right to be admired for reasons other than their body parts. But the fight is not over. I don’t take progress for granted and evolution is not inevitable. These are the life lessons that I want my daughter and son to learn, and sadly, I feel like peer pressure and the onslaught of mass media are winning the battle. Let’s do our part, ladies.

My hat’s off to Ken for saying out loud, with tongue in cheek humor, the unspoken. Honestly, if he wasn’t so old, I might be interested. Call me, Ken, when your closed-head injury fully heals. My grandmother is single.