Megyn Kelly, The Stripper, and The Perfect Curl

Nobody Cares: This morning on Fox, I caught the end of a news story by Megyn Kelly. The pretty blond was recently made famous by some comedian who professed undying love for her every molecular cellular eyelash, while walking on a red carpet.

It was an impressive task.

The news piece was about a 44-year old stripper named Kimberlee, who was suing her old boss for firing her. She was claiming age discrimination. Kimberlee was paid $ 8,000 dollars a month, and that’s not counting tips.

But Megyn said at the end, that the woman didn’t have a case. She was being fired because she didn’t “look the part” and because she was a stripper, that’s what she got.

And she said it as if what she did was so superior.

Personally, I think Megyn should think twice about that…maybe it was the undying love for her brains professed by the young comedian that has clouded her usually quick thinking mind---but hasn’t she noticed, that ALL the women news reporters around her are drop-dead gorgeous?

Obviously she thinks as she ages, unlike a stripper, she will always have a job. After all, she has a degree in political science. She is thanking God that she is not a stripper, and her job will always be there.

But, I wonder. Megyn could very well someday, in the not-so-distant future, be replaced by someone who has the same credentials, but whose beauty would draw a bigger audience. It could happen. Would she cry discrimination?

That 44-year old stripper looked pretty close to 39, and of course she was angry. Where will she make her living now? There is no way she will make the kind of money she is making as a stripper, working just four or five hours a night, but she should have thought of that some time ago.

But---if Megyn makes the mistake of thinking she is protected from looks discrimination because she has a brainy job…she should think again.

And this is funny, because last night I had a dream.

I was at a big party, and there was an “artist” who was going around and drawing the people there. The artist was Anne Bancroft, (Mrs. Robinson) and she posed me on a chair, and got her makeup man to make a perfect blond curl on the right side of my head, with a curling iron.

“Tilt your head to the side…perfect. Now, put your hand down, perfect…”

“Hey, I’m hungry.” I said. “I’m thirsty too.”

The artist woman was exasperated…but she had her waiter bring me some water and a cracker and while I was eating, my perfect curl fell out.

“Oh-- my GOD.” she cried. “You’ve lost it! I can’t draw this..this..you just look terrible!”

Her recriminations made me feel pretty bad. I had morphed from perfection to a rag doll not worthy of even a Polaroid, let alone a masterpiece, all due to the fallen curl and the fact that I could hold my thirst no longer.

Then I got mad. I went into her face and said, (some psychiatrist out here will say I'm talking to my id...knock it off.)

"I am more proud of the three patents I got all by myself then any perfect curl that was ever put upon my head. And if you had been such a great artist, you would have went right to work capturing the moment instantly when you saw the ‘perfection’ instead of huffing around. ”
I got down off the artist’s “throne” and walked out of the big mansion. My mother was waiting for me outside.

And here’s the funny part. The artist was so angry that I had spoken my mind and insulted him, in front of all those people, HE was leaving too.

Yes, the she was now a he, with a skinny little mustache and beady little eyes. And I told my mother as he walked by, “He was a pompous ass, let’s go.”

So, life being as it is, everywhere we look the female’s image is put up as more and more perfection. And that perfection is impossible to keep. Men look upon the female in her perfect form as young and voluptuous, and even if any woman is near genius, not much of that will be admired in eternity…it’s a man’s world, filled with men’s images and ideals.

They can’t really help it, it’s Mother Nature. But it’s up to the women to understand that someday, whether she’s a 44-year old stripper, or a 25-years old newscaster, her looks will determine her place in the limelight--unless she is a rare breed like Margaret Thatcher or Sarah Palin.

So, to this nobody, Megyn’s not much different than the 44-year old stripper. They haven’t faced the reality of the artist called man.

Which brings us to...what’s a woman to do? Well, Sarah Palin showed us this year…bring your own curling iron to the race and if Megyn watches Palin she is going to figure this one out.

If not…she can always marry that comedian.

As for me? I’m going to make my husband stop watching Hogan’s Heroes before we go to sleep.

Oh yeah…sure...right.