On Megyn Kelly’s whine-a-thon with a club of Trump accusers, alleged victim Jessica Leeds dared say that it doesn’t matter whether you’re eight or thirty -five – you remember where you were, what you were doing, and what happened.
Bull. Shit.
I WAS molested as a child and, later, raped as an adult. I was four. I was eight. I was thirteen. I was twenty-three. I was thirty. I’ve even been hit on by handsy friends, though alas I am certain I don’t remember all THOSE incidents. (Perhaps I’m just too jaded. Or perhaps I have my priorities straight.)
It matters a lot whether you’re eight or thirty-five. Trust me.
I know what rape is. It isn’t just thinking, gee, that was creepy. It is more than ick, he wants my phone number. A grope when you’re an adult, baby girls and boys, is not rape or even assault. A grope is unwanted touching, and men who do it should never be excused, but it’s not rape.
Sure, it’s creepy and repulsive. It’s creepy when a grown man is drawn to women who are Barely Legal. It’s creepy when a man massages your shoulders intimately in front of your husband during a televised event. It’s creepy when a man makes sexual jokes to you when you have not initiated that kind of contact. It’s creepy when he watches you funny, or when he talks to your boobs instead of your face.
But guess what? It’s not rape. It’s not assault. Hell, it’s probably not even harassment. It’s mostly just annoying and deserving of physical retaliation – a slap used to be a perfectly acceptable response.
The pansy reactions and whining I am seeing from this group of sweet little cupcakes – man, I just have no words for how pathetic this is. Such girlish weaponry from women who are supposedly strong and independent – really?
If you are followed throughout your life with crippling self-doubt when a man kisses your cheeks and lips – I’m not talking stuff his tongue down your throat a la Franken, but closed-lip pecking – I daresay the problem is not him, but you. Like most people, I have dealt with self-doubt and defeated it – and I was forcibly, penetratively raped at the age of eight. What is wrong with you, chickadee? How about a teensy bit of therapy?
If you put yourself forward to become a beauty pageant contestant and a man lines you and the other ladies up to look you over like a piece of meat – well, hell, darling, what did you think the swimsuit portion of the contest was all about? Do you think they judge you by your eyes and fetching smile? Nope, they are looking at how your anatomy fits together, how subjectively and objectively attractive you are. This is what you are here for. And I’m not just talking men, but also women. You and I both know that we ladies even look at women and think, damn, I wish I had her legs. What is that but judging another woman as if she’s a piece of meat? Objectively speaking, we all are – you know, meat.
And it’s pretty standard for men to come backstage in group dressing areas whether you’re talking beauty pageant or modeling event. Judges, managers, agents, talent scouts. In privacy, it’s more like a team locker room than a bathroom (by the way, since this bothers you so much, how do you feel about gender-neutral bathrooms?) Oh, at the time you’re naked – under a robe? Sweetie, we are all naked under our clothes. A robe is far more covering than the bikini you wore in front of a live and television audience.
Moving on. You want Congress to “address it,” no specification of what that addressing would entail.
Um. Didn’t women want their male “protectors” to address insults to their honor way back when? Husband, father, brother, sometimes son or cousin or uncle, if a male insulted your honor, he was supposed to duel with the miscreant, right? So are you just setting the government up in that position for you – oh, defend my honor, sirrah! I have been woefully insulted by yon nobleman!
Woman, please.
I don’t want to be protected by the questionable ethics of the government. Congress didn’t do a whole lot to protect Monica Lewinsky or address the honor of the myriad women abused by Clinton. No one ever complained about the waitress sandwich incident committed by the cuddly duo Ted Kennedy and Chris Dodd, and we have yet to find out how deeply involved Congress is in tapping their sexual harassment slush fund.
And you want THEM to protect YOU? From what? Themselves?
Here’s the deal: I’m a real feminist. I know how bad it can get for women, and I’ll fight to the end to ensure women aren’t abused by men. But when a man’s just being an asshole, well, he’s just being an asshole. If he’s a friend, I quietly correct him and give him what advice I can. If he’s being an asshole to me, or I see him being an asshole to a female friend, I tell him to knock it off. I take care of it myself. I don’t need a protector from anything that’s not violent. And I sure don’t need to go running to Big Daddy Government to ask him to make the naughty boy stop it.
I am disgusted by all of you female adult children. As Whoopi Goldberg said – inaccurately in her case – this isn’t really RAPE rape. This is a far lesser sin, and in most cases should be taken care of on the spot by real women. Please, ladies: if you are really feminists, if you are really fierce and strong, act it. Take hold of your own power, and smack the creepy asshole silly on the spot.
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