Nobody’s Opinion: Red Alert: Imagine you are in an argument with a woman who considers herself a “feminist.” Let’s also say that she is really making you very angry because she refuses to acknowledge the many differences between the sexes, or maybe that there are SOME things a woman just can’t do. (There are also some things men can’t do, but, that’s another blog.)

She is beating you on every argument, and you want to really piss her off. You’ve had enough.

Well, I have just found out a way that you can get her so upset, she will instantly walk away from you, (doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman) defeated, and probably will go home and be so mad at you, she will immediately walk in her door and run to the phone to call up her best friend and talk about how ignorant you are for hours.

And it won’t matter how longs she talks…the damage will have been done.

I should charge you for this secret, but for the admiration of the writing talents of the lady whom I learned it from, I will just pass it on.

The secret is: Call her a “princess.”

According to Peggy Orenstein of the New York Times, a woman who considers herself a proud American feminist, in her piece called “What’s Wrong With Cinderella?” it is the one thing that all the feminists are upset about nowadays.

You see, THEIR daughters are running around wanting to be Ariel, or Snow White, and it’s driving them absolutely crazy! The thought of their daughters wanting to grow up to be princesses instead of career woman like their mothers is almost unbearable.

Peggy sees the culprit of this cultural obscenity coming from the very successful “Princess Line” of merchandizing put out by Disney, which has started a revolution of little princesses running around squealing in little tutu’s, with pink bracelets and pink slippers on their little feet, and dreaming of finding very handsome princes one day, probably in the mall.

Oh the horror of it all.

It’s driving them mad, because they just can’t fight it. There is pink revolution that has been spurred on by the mass marketing of Disney and Barbie, and soon to be the upcoming onslaught of Tinker Bell merchandize. (Due to a new Disney animated film about Peter Pan, based on the bestsellers novels by Ridley Pearson and Dave Barry)

Tinker Bell will be a bit more feisty and independent, but still remember---- Peter is her master.

How can they possibly raise girls that are “equal” to men, who mom wants to grow up and become a lawyer or the next world leader, with this “princess” junk in every mall and store? There is also the fear that she might always be looking for that man to take care of her, and be happy just being someone’s wife.

Nobody thinks; on the one hand, being upset about Disney’s Princess Line is about as absurd as banning Harry Potter books, but on the other hand, there might be something to this.

I had a precious “princess” moment in my life once that made me give her theory some thought.

(Oh no…another Joyanna moment.)

Unlike most girls, I did not grow up playing with dolls. They bored me to death. My idea of a good time was to go out and walk in the swamps and try to find snakes to talk to.

Don’t worry, I wasn’t abused. I had a rat terrier who could take a rattle snake’s head off in a matter of minutes.

But, I never let her, because I only talked to the snakes that were just sunning. Most of them were asleep. Which is why I married my husband…he sleeps when I talk, snoring like a rattler…therefore I’m right at home.

And when I was a little girl, I hated the color pink, the true color of a princess. I STILL hate the color pink. To this day I do not own any piece of pink clothing, lipstick, bedspread…you would have a hard time finding anything the color pink in my house.

If I ever saw a pink roach, I would probably get a gun.

But, I did see, like most kids my age, Disney’s Cinderella. I don’t remember “when” I saw it, I just remember that I was young and the message was:

Be very pretty and someday this very handsome prince will find you and marry you, and you will live happily ever after…in a big castle somewhere in Germany, after you get down from the horse. Actually, you won’t even have to walk; Prince Charming will carry you everywhere.

The film did not mention taxes, diapers, flu, strokes, sick kids, car accidents, aids, or vast political conspiracies.

So, being as it was the training film for all girls, I must admit, when you are little it makes you think that’s how life is, and will be someday. You also know if you are NOT Cinderella, this prince might have trouble finding you. It’s always in the back of your mind. Any girl would be lying if she says it’s not.

Parents of course fail to tell you it’s a fairy tale. To them, they are getting a few hours rest, or paying the bills while you are parked in front of the TV watching Cinderella, having no idea that you are watching “Debbie Does Dallas” right after your tape of Cinderella stopped.

This explains what happened to Madonna.

Anyway, Peggy’s article took me back to a very precious memory. It takes place on the steps of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, in Disneyland, Anaheim.

It’s about eleven o’clock at night, the year is around 1978, and my best friend from high school and I, after having spent the whole day in this magical fairy tale of an invented Kingdom, don’t want to leave. We hadn’t seen each other for years, and Shelly was about as close a friend as I ever had.

So, there we were sitting and watching the hordes of thousands of tired people dragging their little kids and packages, moving slowly in mass down that truly fairy tale lane, Main Street.

We also decided to be the last people to leave.

The Castles is lit up; it’s a beautiful and warm California night. And we start talking.

“Gee, did you see Disney’s Cinderella Shelly?

“Yeah, what a bunch of crock. That movie has ruined millions of women lives. Here we are forever waiting for our prince, and he is NOT coming. It was the biggest scam lie ever told in history, and I hate Walt Disney for messing us all up,” she said.

Poor Walt.

I could say nothing, but her words at the time had a truthful ring to it.

After all, hadn’t I done nothing but wish every single day for my prince charming? Life seemed so hard. Did I get that lesson that I was going to have to take care of myself until I died, with no help from anyone? Did I get this “helplessness” from Cinderella? Did I think I was somehow “not quite loveable enough” because of that film?

Could I support myself? Would I die without finding someone to love? At the time, it seemed so.

We both felt the disappointment that life was far from what we had expected it to be. Then we proceeded to not remember where we parked the car.

And this was even when the whole lot was already empty.

It took us four hours to find it. Which to us was real proof that neither one of us was capable of existing without help from SOMEONE…

It turned out to be a parking lot cop.

Shelly, I found out later on, had a reason to be cynical. She was living in Watts at the time with a pimp, making her living as a prostitute. She had moved from the Midwest to Los Angles because her parents had divorced when she was seventeen.

To say her parents breakup at that stage in her life messed her up pretty bad, is an understatement. No Cinderella story there.

But in her article Peggy says “Cinderella is a symbol of the patriarchal oppression of all women, another example of corporate mind control.”

Gee, as I remember, the Prince actually SAVED Cinderella from her wicked stepmother. What was Cinderella suppose to tell the prince?

“Buzz off! I’m going to the dance alone; I don’t need YOU Mr. Prince Charming!”

Little girls have wanted to be princesses since the word was invented. Disney only saw the big bucks in it. No corporate mind controls here, just lots of sales.

Peggy also talks affectionately about how in the 1990’s the third-wave-feminists, (I guess that means I was in the first wave) embraced words like “bitch” and “slut” as terms of affection.

Right--- women are really getting equal here; they can call themselves sluts anytime, just like the men do.

And then it dawns on her that all these little girls running around might go from pink…to sexy red, and then to porn stars, as sure as the sun shines.

This woman works herself up into a real nightmare. All the time her little daughter is happily playing princess and waving wands, and going to Princess Parties.

I felt like sending here a get-well card.

In the end, I am all for little girls playing princess. Come on…this is really getting silly.

All daughters should be the “princess” of their parent’s eyes, especially their fathers. There is nothing wrong with fantasizing about being a beautiful fairy tale.

Most of us grew up thinking there was a Santa Claus didn’t we? Hope and faith that life will turn up good things come with the package of imagination.

If you can stay there, it can help you through the dark hours.

And if they grow up believing that their father thinks they are very special, they are less likely to grow up to be “bitches” and “sluts.”

It will be Daddy eyes that guide them, not Walt Disney.

And if you are lucky enough to have a loving Dad, who will always see you as his little “princess,” odds are, you will grow up to be a very capable woman someday.

And you will smash Barbie’s head in. (No…just kidding)

You won’t be afraid if your daughter wants a pink bedroom, because you know, it’s just a phrase she is going through. She is only doing what comes natural to her.

So I’d say, go ahead and read Cinderella to her, just mix in a few Harry Potter books, the new Peter Pan books, and maybe some Stephen King to get her ready for real life.

Mix the pink with some green and purple. Kids are real flexible.

I was very happy to have discovered this that the whole Princess thing was driving the feminists crazy.

Therefore I suggest that all conservatives from now on address all liberal feminists with the world “Princess” in front of their first names.

Princess Hillary, the Princess of Pink.

If you are a feminists, go ahead and put Punk-ass in front of it. Show us how tough you are.

Much better than Madame President.

Nobody’s Perfect; Peggy also stated; “According to theories of gender constancy, until they’re about 6 or 7, children don’t’ realize that the sex they were born with is immutable. They believe they have a choice: they can grow up to be either a mommy or a daddy.”

What loony psychiatrist came to this conclusion?

I found this statement really funny. Poor Peggy, she had no clue she was of the female “sex” until she was seven? Perhaps this explains that those women who are “feminists” were born with a severe handicap and we should all cut them some slack.

Nobody Knows; She says that she doesn’t want her little girl to be a fish without a bicycle; she wants her to be a fish with another fish.

How can you argue with that? She better stock up on fish food.

Nobody Cares; I have lots of Tinker Bell stuff all over the house. I am also a BIG Disney fan. The old Disney. (Actually, the newer Disney is pretty good too.)

Dopey is another character that I identify with because I have lost my car more times than I care to admit in parking lots. In fact, I have “dopey” moments at least five times a day.

Wait, I did remember something. I DO actually like pink ties on men. I think it if the guy is a real man, it makes him all the more sexy. Because he is SO sure of his masculinity, he is not afraid to wear pink.

Then again, if he had on pink underwear, I might gag.

But that’s the only exception.