Remember when you graduated from high school? You said to yourself, ‘I’m never coming back to this hellhole.’ But what if that hellhole came to you? What if somebody sent you an issue of National Review?
By Molly Powell • August 30, 2014
No one is catcalling Rosie O’Donnell, Barbara Bush, or Janet Napolitano.
Blink. Blink. Umm, go on?
No one is catcalling my plump elderly mother as I wheel her down the sidewalk in her wheelchair. Marilyn Monroe once observed that she could walk down the sidewalk without drawing attention — without anyone recognizing her, let alone ogling or whistling.
Hints, anybody? I’m stumped.
She could turn her sex appeal on and off at will. Clearly the question of whether or not a woman is treated as a sex object by strangers on the street does indeed turn upon her physical appearance. To state otherwise is to ignore reality — which is not a conservative position.
Ooookay, so. Shorter: “Men never hoot at bug-eyed octogenarian scolds with thyroid disease, so why can’t they catcall your sister?”
To say, holy shit. Whoop – nearly forgot. Shorter the deuce: “Liberals are fat lesbians who can’t give a man an erection like I, Molly Powell, can.” If you think I’m overselling that second shorter compare Ms. Monroe, above, to our esteemed author, the not-Rosie O’Donnell:
When I wear a tight skirt and heels down the street, and some guy catcalls, I think, Okay, I guess this does look rather good on me. And when I wear baggy jeans and a loose-fitting T-Shirt and no lipstick, no one gives me a second look.
Who’s got the power?
Right, you go girl.
As women we can choose how we present ourselves. And if we are treated as mere pieces of meat, we bear at least some of the responsibility.
And if Molly were sexually assaulted, or stabbed, like a ‘mere’ piece of meat, she’d have to bear the responsibility for that as well. National Review is a fucking nightmare.